I&40 


iKseuers  $•  aiauoners, 
No.  174  Baltimore  street, 

BALTIMORE. 


LI  E>  RAHY 

OF   THL 

U  N  1VERSITY 

Of    ILLINOIS 

823 

WG75w 

v.l 


J   THE 


YOUTH 


OF 


SHARSPEARE 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players, 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances, 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 

Shakspeare. 

Triumph,  my  Britain !   thou  hast  one  to  show 
To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 

Ben  Johsow. 


IN  THREE  VOLUMES 
VOL.  I. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
LEA    AND   BLANC  HARD 

Sl'CCESSOKS    TO    CAREV    AND    CO. 

1S40. 


n 

/8 


V3 


3 

s 


TO 

THE  ADMIRERS 

OF 

AND    OF    THE    OTHER    ILLUSTRIOUS    SPIRITS    OF 
THE    GOLDEN    AGE    OF    ENGLAND, 

THESE  VOLUMES, 

WITH    TRUE    HUMBLENESS, 
AND    ENTIRE    DEVOTEDNESS    TO    THE    SUBJECT, 

ARE    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED, 
BY 
THEIR    FELLOW-AVORSHIPER, 

AND    VER7    OBEDIENT    SERVANT, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


a* 


PREFACE. 


.DDRESSED    BY    THE     AUTHOR,    WITH    A    SUITABLE    PROPER     RESPECT 
IN    HIM,    TO    HIS    SINGULAR    GOOD    FRIEND, 

THE  COURTEOUS  READER. 


Methinks  an  apology  is  necessary  for  adventuring  on  a  subject 
of  the  extreme  difficulty  essayed  in  these  volumes  ;  but  the  cause 
of  my  entering  on  so  notable  ambitious  a  task,  will  perhaps  hold  me 
excused  in  some  measure  ;  for  this  was  it :  I  had  noted  with  exceed- 
ing sorrowfulness,  and  abecoming  indignation,  divers  small  biogra- 
phers, muddle-headed  commentators,  and  insolent  cyclopaedia  scrib- 
blers, with  as  scarce  a  commodity  of  truth  as  of  wit,  garnishing 
their  silly  conceits  of  the  noblest  heart  and  brain  that  ever  labored 
for  universal  humanity,  with  a  prodigal  store  of  all  manner  of  des- 
picable vileness,  and  wretched  impudent  folly  ;  and  having  had 
much  deep  study,  and  moreover,  being  possessed  of  a  very  bound- 
less love  of  the  subject,  I  thought  I  would  strive,  as  far  as  lay  within 
the  compass  of  my  humble  ability,  to  put  to  shame  these  pitiful  tra- 
ducers,  and  set  up  before  the  world  a  statue  of  this  High  Priest  of 
Nature,  as  he  ought  to  be  entitled,  as  like  as  might  be  unto  the 
wondrous   admirableness  of  his  natural  gifts. 

I  doubt  hugely  there  has  ever  been  a  writer  of  so  catholic  a  repu- 
tation as  this  so  slandered  character;  for,  as  I  firmly  believe,  it  is 
scarce  possible  to  point  out  any  one  part  of  the  huge  globe,  where 
some  faint  whisper  of  him  hath  not  penetrated.  On  the  desertest 
rock,  in  the  savagest  country,  in  all  extremes  of  climate,  and  among 
the  goodliest  and  gloomiest  features  of  land  and  sea,  somewhat  of 
the  countless  great  heaps  of  comfort  he  hath  left  us,  hath  had  its  ex- 
quisite sweet  influence.  In  what,  remote  wilderness  hath  the  mis- 
sionary set  up  his  dwelling,  which  knoweth  not  in  his  lighter  hours, 
the  cheerful  piety  of  his  matchless  preaching?  Over  which  inhos- 
pitable towering  mountain  doth  the  traveler  seek  a  path,  that  hath 
not  heard,  to  beguile  the  way  of  its  weariness,  the  welcome  remem- 
brance of  his  infinite  wit?  And  over  what  far  distant  ocean  hath 
the  sea-boy  strained  his  gaze,  that  never  caught  from  such  lofty  gal- 
lery snatches  of  the  inimitable  music  of  his  everlasting  tuneful 
verse  ?  There  are  no  such  places.  He  hath  adventured  wide  and  far  ; 
and  his  stream  of  purest  English  hath  flowed  from  the  gentle  Avon 
through  every  monstrous  sea  that  dasheth  its  violent,  fierce  billows 
against  the  walls  of  the  globe;  and  it  is  drunk  with  a  like  delicate 

VOL.    I.  I* 


I  1 59073 


VI  PREFACE. 

rare  freshness  as  at  its  humble  source,  on  the  banks  of  the  gigantic 
Mississippi,  the  mighty  Ganges,  and  on  those  of  their  in  good  time, 
as  glorious  rival,  the  Darling. 

Amongst  the  living,  there  existeth  no  sign  of  any  such  greatness. 
Every  succeeding  generation  it  seemeth  to  increase,  whilst  such  ex- 
amples as  has  undisputed  supremacy  before  it  made  itself  manifest, 
have  since  wrapped  their  antique  cloaks  about  them,  and  been  con- 
tent with  humbler  places.  The  shades  of  Sophocles,  iEschylus, 
Euripides,  Menander,  and  Aristophanes,  are  stirred  from  their  long 
deep  lethargy  by  wondrous  memorials  of  the  wool-stapler's  son  of 
Stratford  uttered  within  the  ruin  which  was  once  their  "  Globe,"  by 
some  adventurous  tourist  from  an  island  that  never  had  name  or  ex- 
istence in  their  memories  ;  and  so  their  masters  in  arms  yet  pupils 
in  learning,  the  haughty  Romans,  rise  from  their  desolate  theaters 
marveling  exceedingly  to  hear  there  proclaimed  in  all  that  apper- 
taineth  to  excellence  in  the  writing  of  Tragedy  and  Comedy  the 
nndisputable  omnipotence  of  a  Briton. 

Thus,  in  his  national  proper  appareling,  goeth  he  so  famously 
abroad,  but  in  a  foreign  dress  he  is  scarce  less  reverenced,  for  the 
principal  nations  of  Europe  have  strove  to  make  his  excellence  as 
familiar  with  themas  was  possible,  and  have  turned  his  English  into 
as  eloquent  language  of  their  own  as  they  had  at  their  command- 
ment. By  these  means,  the  Spaniard,  the  Italian,  the  Frenchman, 
and  the  German,  have  got  him  into  their  friendly  acquaintance. 
But  of  these  only  the  Germans  can  be  said  either  to  know  him 
thorougbly,  or  appreciate  him  with  a  proper  affection.  These  excel- 
lent worthy  persons  do  love,  him  with  all  their  hearts,  study  him  so 
intently,  they  will  not  let  the  slightest  of  his  manifold  graces  to 
escape  without  the  full  measure  of  admiration  it  meriteth,  and  do 
so  much  make  of  him  the  general  talk,  as  though  all  Germany  were 
but  Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  her  sole  glory  no  other  than  William 
Shakspeare.  I  have  ventured  to  style  him  the  High  Priest  of  Na- 
ture, and  truly  not  without  proper  warrant.  He  is  the  chief  inter- 
preter of  her  mysteries,  and  the  sovereign  pontiff  of  her  universal 
church,  wherever  the  beautiful  is  felt  or  the  intellectual  understood  ; 
and  Nature,  who  gave  unto  him  his  surpassing  attributes,  receiveth 
back,  in  a  myriad  of  exhaustless  channels,  as  I  have  insufficiently 
noted,  the  divine  excellence  that  came  of  her  giving.  Since  he 
hath  ministered  at  her  altar  there  hath  been  no  schism  as  to  her 
doctrine,  nor  sign  of  dispute  of  her  authority  ;  for  he  so  put  her  re- 
ligion into  language  and  action,  that  wherever  there  is  enlightened 
humanity,  there  must  ever  remain  the  most  earnest  loving  deep- 
hearted  devotedness.  In  this  capacity  it  is  as  utter  foolishness  to 
attempt  drawing  up  an  inventory  of  the  riches  hoaded  in  the  treas- 
uries of  the  deep,  as  to  seek  to  particularize,  with  anything  nigh 
unto  faithfulness,  the  prodigal  amount  of  good  he  hath  caused  to  be 
distributed  to  mankind.  As  a  benefactor,  'tis  vain  to  look  for  his 
reer;  as  a  philanthropist,  no  one  hath  lived  with  such  profit  to  his 
'ellows,  The  legacy  which  he  left  in  trust  to  Time,  for  the  univer- 
sal benefit,  bath  this   peculiir  property,   that  the  more  of  it  is  dia- 


PREFACE.  Vll 

posed  of,  the  more  abundantly  will  it  increase  ;  and  so  rapidly  doth 
it  multiply  itself  as  it  getteth  to  be  spread  abroad,  that  it  may,  with- 
out any  color  of  exaggeration,  be  said,  it  is  a  benefaction  that  must 
embrace  all  space  and  all  eternity. 

Whilst  endeavoring  to  exhibt  something  that  approaches  to  the 
true  character  of  the  man,  I  have  also  sought  fo  portray  the  princi- 
pal characteristics  of  the  age  on  which  he  conferred  such  marvelous 
honor.  Perchance  some  may  think  that  these  volumes  are  worthy 
only  of  that  sort  of  credit  a  mere  romance  can  look  for;  but  let 
them  be  assured,  there  is  more  of  history  in  these  pages  than  divers 
books  purporting  to  be  histories  can  boast  of,  and  whenever  they 
hold  not  Truth  by  the  hand,  they  tread  as  nigh  upon  her  heels  as 
may  be.  Mayhap  too,  others  may  look  on  divers  passages,  as  savor- 
ing in  no  slight  prominence  of  over-boldness  in  the  writer,  but  in 
very  truth,  it  is  nought  else  but  the  daring  which  love  inspires,  and 
ought,  it  is  respectfully  urged,  in  no  case  to  be  considered  as  coming  of 
any  other  source.  Of  the  imperfectness  of  the  elaborate  picture  I 
have  essayed,  I  am  as  conscious  as  any  person  that  breathes,  but  I 
doubt  not  amongst  all  liberal  kind  hearts,  I  shall  find  such  charitable 
constructions  put  on  my  deficiency,  as  may  induce  them  to  allow  that 
the  performance,  humble  as  it  may  be,  hath  not  been  altogether  un- 
profitable. This  I  have  been  the  more  induced  to  look  for  from  the 
generous  encouragement  afforded  to  "  Shakspeare  and  his  friends," 
by  such  critics  and  scholarly  persons  who  have  taken  it  in  hand, 
who  both  publicly  and  privately  have  bestowed  on  it  their  commen- 
dation with  such  exceeding  bounteousness  as  I  had  not  dared  to  ex- 
pect. That  the  praise  so  generally  given,  applied  much  more  to  the 
subject  than  its  treatment,  I  cannot  help  but  believe  ;  but  let  that 
be  as  it  may,  I  will  ever  seek  what  means  I  have  at  my  disposal,  to 
prove  how  earnestly  I  strive  for  the  desert  in  which  it  ought  to  have 
originated. 

Doubtless,  it  would  be  but  fitting  of  me  here,  to  make  some  apol- 
ogy for  publishing  these  works  out  of  their  proper  order,  as  the 
present  should  have  preceded  its  predecessor  ;  but  methinks  I  can- 
not do  better  than  leave  the  fault  to  be  dealt  with  by  the  reader  as 
he  shall  think  fittest — hoping  it  may  not  be  found  a  matter  of  such 
heinousness  as  to  deprive  the  offender  of  some  excusing,  particular- 
ly as  each  is  a  distinct  work,  complete  in  itself.  If  there  exist  no 
other  objection,  I  doubt  not,  despite  their  irregular  starting,  they 
will  now  run  their  race  together  as  fairly  and  as  gallantly  withal, 
as  can  be  expected  of  them. 

There  hath  been  some  stir  lately  made  concerning  of  the  orthog- 
raphy of  the  ever  honored  name  of  our  "  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon." 
On  that  point,  it  is  only  necessary  here  to  say  that  it  was  customary 
with  divers  notable  persons  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  to  write  their 
names  in  more  than  one  form,  just  as  it  took  their  I  fantasy, 
proof  of  which  will  be  discovered  in  the  letters  of  the  time, 
wherein  Raleigh  sometimes  signeth  himself  'Itiwley,"  Lord  Bur- 
leigh hath  some  three  or  four  ways  of  spelling  his  name,  and  others 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

do  the  like  sort  of  thing  ;  therefore,  to  find  a  variation  in  the  auto- 
graphs of  the  illustrious  Shakspeare  is  in  no  manner  strange.  The 
orthography  here  adhered  to,  hath  the  recommendation  of  being  that 
which  the  great  Bard  employed  in  the  latter  period  of  his  life,  when 
it  is  supposed  he  must  have  settled  it  to  his  liking  ;  is  moreover  the 
same  that  was  used  by  the  choicest  of  his  friends,  who  doubtless, 
had  the  best  means  of  knowing  his  humor  in  it,  and  hath  been  made 
familnr  to  us,  in  consequence  of  its  adoption  by  the  most  learned  of 
his  editors,  critics,  and  scholars  in  this,  and  in  all  other  countries, 
who  so  it  is  presumed,  ought  to  be  the  properest  guides  to  follow  in 
such  a  matter. 


5ft?  m  fcejjimuit)  tjje  Storw  ot 
THE  YOUTH   OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

All  was  this  Land  ful  filled  of  Faerie, 
The  Elf-Quene  with  hire  jolie  company 
Daunsed  full  oft  in  many  a  grene  mede, — 
This  was  the  old  opinion,  as  I  rede. 

Chaucer. 

The  vallies  rang  with  their  delicious  strains, 
And  pleasure  reveled  on  those  happy  plains. 

Chalkhill. 

What  if  my  lordinge  doo  chaunce  for  to  miss  me  ? 
The  worst  that  can  happen  his  cudgell  will  kiss  me. 

Tragicall  Comedye  of  Apius  and  Virginia 

Oh  !  what  a  beauteous  night  was  that  time-honored 
twenty-third  of  April,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thou- 
sand five  hundred  and  sixty-four  !  The  air  was  clear  as 
any  crystal,  and  the  wind  just  shaking  the  fragrance  from 
the  young  blossoms,  as  it  swept  along  to  make  music  in 
the  fresh  leaves  of  the  tall  trees,  did  create  such  harmony 
and  sweetness  therein,  that  nothing  could  have  appeared 
so  delectable,  save  the  star-bestudded  sky  above,  where- 
in the  lady  moon  was  seen  to  glide  with  so  silvery  a 
brightness  that  the  sapphire  heavens,  the  flowery  earth, 
and  the  sparkling  water,  were  appareled  in  one  mantle 
of  the  delicatest  light.  Peradventure  so  fair  a  night 
hath  never  been  seen  before  or  since;  yet,  of  such  boun- 
tiful beauty  as  it  was  throughout,  there  was  one  spot 
wherein  its  exquisite  rare  attractions  were  heaped  togeth- 
er with  so  prodigal  a  hand,  that  the  place,  for  the  ex- 
ceeding pleasantness  of  its   aspect,  must  have  been  like 


10  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

unto  that  famous  garden  of  Paradise,  that   held  our  first 
parents  in  their  primitive  innocency  and  happiness. 

It  was  a  low  meadow  field,  marked  by  sundry  declivi- 
ties and  inequalities,  whereon  a  goodly  show  of  all  man- 
ner of  spring  flowers  were  sleeping  in  the  moonlight, 
even  to  the  very  waves  of  that  right  famous  river,  the 
Avon,  which  was  flowing  along  in  all  its  refreshing  love- 
liness, at  its  margin.  Trees  were  here  and  there  of  di- 
vers kinds,  garmented  in  their  newest  livery  of  green  ;  a 
row  of  alders,,  a  clump  of  beeches,  a  solitary  oak,  a 
shady  coppice,  were  stretching  far  and  wide  in  one  di- 
rection ;  and  hedges  of  hawthorn  and  elder,  interspersed 
with  crab,  wild  plum,  and  towering  elms,  would  intersect 
the  country  in  others.  Close  at  hand  was  the  town  of 
Stratford,  with  the  tall  spire  of  the  church,  and  the  quaint 
eaves  of  the  houses  distinctly  visible.  Here  stood  the 
mansion  of  one  of  its  persons  of  worship.  There  the 
more  modest  dwelling  of  an  industrious  yeoman.  At  one 
place  was  the  cottage  of  the  sturdy  laborer ;  in  another 
the  tenement  of  the  honest  miller  ;  whilst,  as  the  eye 
stretched  out  to  the  distance,  other  buildings  might  be 
faintly  seen,  which  doubtless  marked  the  situation  of  the 
neighboring  villages. 

But,  although  signs  of  habitation  were  thus  plentiful, 
of  man  or  woman  not  one  was  there  in  sight  ;  for  this 
especial  reason,  all  manner  of  honest  folk  had  laid  them 
down  to  sleep  long  since.  Little  could  be  seen  of 
live  things,  excepting  perchance  a  water-rat  swimming 
upon  the  Avon,  or,  mayhap,  a  fold  of  sheep  on  the  ad- 
joining farm  ;  or  heard,  save  the  tinkle  of  the  sheep-bells, 
or  the  bark  of  the  shepherd's  dog,  occasionally  respond- 
ed to  by  some  dog  afar  off;  or  the  rushing  of  the  water 
at  the  mill-wheel,  or  the  croaking  of  the  frogs  among  the 
rushes,  or  the  hooting  of  an  owl  as  she  passed  by,  intent 
on  a  mousing  expedition  to  the  nearest  barn  ;  and  these 
sounds  made  as  excellent  sweet  music  as  ever  poet  did 
delight  to  hear.  Certes  this  was  just  such  a  scene,  and 
these  the  very  properest  accompaniments  for  awakening 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE.  11 

in  the  heart  that  profound  sympathy  with  nature  which 
the  few  to  whom  such  feeling  is  familiar  give  expression 
to,  in  sentiments  that  partake  of  the  same  beauty  and 
immortality  as  the  source  whence  they  spring.  All  at 
once  a  new  and  unfamiliar  sound  came  floating  upon  the 
air.  It  was  faint  and  indistinct,  a  mere  murmur;  yet 
musically  soft  and  low.  Gradually  it  grew  upon  the  ear, 
as  a  blossom  opening  to  the  sunshine.  A  gentle  harmo- 
ny became  distinguishable  ;  then  came  tones  of  such  ex- 
quisite melodiousness,  it  was  ravishing  to  listen  to  them. 
At  last  voices,  seeming  in  some  number,  were  readily 
heard,  and  then,  words  becoming  audible,  they  were  at 
last  distinctly  repeated  in  the  following  order ; 

"  We  come  from  the  violet's  azure  cells, 
We  come  from  the  cowslip's  golden  bells, 
From  the  hawthorn's  odorous  bloom  we  fly  ; 
From  the  dewy  eaves 
Of  the  primrose  leaves, 
From  the  daisy's  blushing  buds  we  hie  ; 
And  fill  the  air  with  sounds  and  sights 

As  though  to  earth  all  heaven  was  streaming, 
More  sweet  than  lovers'  stolen  delights, 

More  bright  than  aught  loved  maid  is  dreaming. 
We  come  from  the  snowdrop's  pallid  head, 
We  come  from  the  heather's  lowly  bed, 
From  the  wild  bee's  haunt  and  the  wood-lark's  home  ; 
From  the  grassy   couch 
Where  the  lev'rets  crouch, 
And  the  coney  hides  ;  —  we  come  !  we  come  !  " 

Whilst  this  roundelay  was  being  sung,  there  appeared 
moving  in  the  atmosphere,  all  manner  of  bright  colors, 
like  unto  a  goodly  rainbow  in  the  heavens,  or  a  shower 
of  ali  the  delicatest  flowers  upon  the  earth,  and  presently 
forms  could  be  distinctly  traced  amongst  them  ;  and,  as 
they  approached  the  banks  of  the  river,  it  was  seen  that 
they  were  crowds  of  tiny  beings,  of  shape  as  beautiful 
as  ever  the  eye  looked  on  ;  garmented  very  daintily  in 
what  seemed  to  be  blossoms  of  divers  kinds  and  colors. 
Their  complexions  were  marvelous  fair  ;  their  hair  of  a 
bright  golden  hue,  curling  very  prettily,  decorated  with 
exceeding  small  wreaths,  or,  mayhap,  a  dainty  sweet 


12  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

flower  worn  as  a  helmet  ;  and  they  floated  on  the  air 
with  infinite  ease  in  every  possible  position  ;  some  plung- 
ing head  downwards,  and  others,  as  it  were,  reclining 
backwards,  looking  to  observe  who  came  after  them.  On 
they  came,  as  countless  as  the  stars  ;  and  in  the  center 
was  one  round  whom  the  rest  were  thronging  with  a 
wonderful  show  of  love  and  reverence  ;  and  she  reclined 
in  a  car,  carved  of  pearl,  that  seemed  to  be  as  light  as  a 
gossamer,  was  shaped  like  a  shell,  and  drawn  by  two 
bright-winged  butterflies.  Her  face  was  as  lovely  as  the 
morning  light,  and  on  her  brows  she  wore  a  coronal  of 
jasmine  studded  with  fresh  dew  drops.  A  scarf  of  rose 
color  of  a  singular  fine  fabric,  the  material  whereof  had 
doubtless  been  stolen  from  the  silk-worm's  web,  was  tied 
from  the  shoulder  to  the  hip,  where  it  was  fastened  in  a 
bow  over  a  close  vest  of  a  sapphire  hue,  richly  ornament- 
ed with  gold  leaves  ;  and  the  rest  of  her  appareling  was 
of  the  like  pretty  fantasy.  Scarcely  had  this  exquisite 
fair  creature  and  her  companions  alighted  on  the  enam- 
eled banks  of  the  river,  and  the  voices  had  become 
hushed  into  an  indistinct  murmur  of  pleasure  at  finding 
themselves  at  their  journey's  end,  when  the  air  was  again 
filled  with  the  same  wondrous  harmonies  and  delicate 
words,  that  had  there  been  created  so  recently  ;  but  the 
voices  now  were  of  a  deeper  tone. 

Presently  there  appeared,  hovering  about,  a  vast  crowd 
of  similar  little  beings  as  those  that  had  a  moment  since 
alighted  on  the  ground,  only  these  were  of  a  more  mas- 
culine aspect,  and  garmented  in  hose  and  doublet,  fitting 
tight  to  the  body,  of  divers  delicate  colors,  wearing  fa- 
mous pretty  feathers  in  their  caps,  mayhap  filched  from 
the  small  birds  ;  and  some  had  quivers  of  arrows  at 
their  backs.  Some  wore  a  smart  rapier,  of  at  least  the 
length  of  a  tailor's  needle  ;  and  many  carried  spears  of  a 
marvelous  fine  point  and  thinness.  These  were  floating 
on  the  air- in  all  manner  of  picturesque  attitudes,  save 
ne  who  sat  in  a  fair  car  of  gold,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  gi- 
gantic dragon-flies,  attended  by  a  company  who  appeared 

o 


xHE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  13 

to  act  as  a  guard  of  honor.  He  wore  a  crown  on  his 
head,  and  a  rapier  at  his  side,  and  a  purple  robe  of  fine 
velvet,  richly  embroidered  with  stars,  over  his  vest.  Per- 
petual youth  sat  smiling  on  his  countenance,  and  his 
limbs  were  of  so  graceful  a  shape,  my  poor  words  have 
not  the  cunning  to  describe  it.  As  this  assembly  de- 
scended to  join  the  other,  a  chorus  of  mutual  congratula- 
tion arose,  whereof  the  burthen  of  the  sylphs  was,  "Hail, 
Oberon  !  "  and  that  of  the  others,  "  Hail  Titania  !  "  — 
showing  that  those  two  were  the  king  and  queen  of  fai- 
rie,  —  which  seemed  to  be  sung  with  such  wonderful  joy 
and  so  sweet  a  spirit,  that  it  was  exquisite  to  hear  beyond 
all  conceiving. 

King  Oberon  having  stepped  from  his  car,  advanced 
to  that  of  his  queen  close  by,  and  with  a  very  excellent 
courtesy,  did  hand  the  fair  Titania  out,  perchance  to 
tread  a  measure  on  the  verdant  mead  ;  whereupon  their 
discourse  ran   thus : 

"  Light  of  my  life,  and  life  of  all  my  joy  !  " 
rapturously  exclaimed  the  fairy  king. 

"  In  whose  fair  eyes,  the  fountains  of  my  bliss, 

My  soul  drinks  sweeter  and  more  delicate  draughts. 

Than  flowers  or  fruits  provide  ;  say  with  what  aim, 

For  well  I  know  some  hidden  purpose  lies 

Within  the  covert  of  thy  fantasy, 

Have  I  been  summoned  with  my  company 

From  the  deep  dingle  in  the  emerald  wood, 

Where,  'mid  the  tangled  roots  and  gnarled  boughs 

Of  reverential  oaks  and  hoary  pines, 

With  our  rude  mirth  we  rouse  the  dappled  deer 

Or  chase  the  owlets  to  their  dark  retreats." 
"  And  what  wouldst  give  to  know  ?  " 
asked  Titania,  with  a  pretty  seriousness. 

"  What  give,  sweetheart?  "  replied  he. 

"  How  like  a  very  woman  art  thou  grown  ! 

Thou  hast  some  pretty  meaning  in  the  act, 

Some  quaint  device,  mayhap  some  harmless  jest, 

Whereby  the  rosy  hollows  of  thy  cheek 

Shall  be  arrayed  with  all  thy  fairest  smiles, 

To  bear  glad   witness  how  man's  wiser  mind 

(Jan  by  a  woman's  wit  be  set  at  nought. 

And  for  the  secret  thou'lt  a  bargain  make, 

Which  having  ratified,  the  secret's  told; 

VOL.  I.  2 


14  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

And  in  its  nothingness  must  lie  the  jest, 
And  its  point  thy  triumph." 

':  Tush,  my  lord  !  " 
cried  his  fair  companion,  half  turning  from  him. 
"  Art  thou  so  little  curious  as  this  ? 
Nay,  by  the  trembling  beam  that  leaves  the  skies 
To  steal  soft  kisses  from  the  yielding  wave, 
I'll  hie  me  hence  and  tell  thee  not  at  all." 
"  In  pity  say  not  so  !  "  said  he. 

"  I'll  say  and  do  !  " 
answered  the  other  with  a  famous  show  of  resolution. 

u  Seem'st  thou  not  more  inclined  to  learn  the  drift 
Of  why  on  such  a  night  of  all  the  year, 
I  bade  thee  hasten  to  this  favored  spot." 

<l  Then  am  I  curious  to  such  excess,"  observed  her  lord, 
u  As  passeth  all  conceiving.    I  prithee  say 
What  was  thy  purpose.     Tell  it  straight, 
For  my  impatience  is  so  powerful 
As  will  endure  no  hindrance." 

"  O'   my  word  !  "  cried  Titania, 
"  Thy  nature  grows  impatient  of  a  sudden. 
Fie  on   thee,  my  lord  !      Dost  mock  me  so  ! 
With  such  conceits  dost  think  a  woman  caught 
Who  for  a  curious  humor  hath  been  famed, 
And  therefore  knoweth  how  it  shows  itself? 
Hadst  thou  a  secret,  1  would  never  rest 
A  minute,  nay,  a  moment  of  the  hour, 
Till  I  became  its  mistress.     I  would  watch 
All   fittest  opportunities  to  ply 
The  searchingest  questions  ever  spoke; 
And  at  thy  rising  and  thy  lying  down, 
The  hunt,  the  walk,  the  banquet  or  the  dance  ; 
In  brief,  in  ev'ry  time  and  ev'ry  place, 
I'd  importune  thee  with  such  earnestness, 
And  in  a  way  so  lovingly  withal, 
Thou  couldst  not  hold  it  from  me  if  thou  wouldst ; 
Or  shouldst  thou  still  attempt  to  keep  it  hid, 
Then  would  I  venture  close   to  where  it  hides. 
And  with  sweet  force  dislodge  it  from  thy  lips." 
u  Then  thus  such  sweet  enforcement  I  employ." 

Thereupon  his  elfin  majesty  very  gallantly  did  salute 
his  lovely  queen,  the  which  she  received  as  if  in  no  way 
inclined  to  anger,  as  may  be  supposed  ;  and  then  they, 
saying  manifold  loving  pleasantries  unto  each  other, 
walked  to  where  there  was  a  banqueting  table,  set  out 
for  them  with  all  manner  of  tempting  delicates,  and   sat 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  15 

themselves  down,  each  in  a  sort  of  throne  ;  for  the  read- 
er must  he  made  aware,  that  whilst  the  king  and  queen 
of  Faii'ie  were  conversing  as  hath  heen  described,  there 
were  raised  upon  the  green  sward  by  their  attendants,  a 
royal  canopy  of  crimson  silk  and  gold,  and  a  goodly  dis- 
play of  most  delectable  cheer;  and  hundreds  of  the  lit- 
tle people  were  running  about  putting  the  things  in  order, 
whilst  groups  of  beautiful  sylphs  were  receiving  notable 
sweet  courtesies  from  their  elfin  gallants;  some  reclining 
their  graceful  figures  on  the  delicate  gra^s,  and  others 
standing  up  as  if  preparing  for  the  dance  ;  and  in  an- 
other place,  there  were  seen  a  score  or  so  of  musicians,  a 
tuning  t>f  their  records,  theorbos,  citterns,  harps,  sackbuts, 
and  the  like  choice  instruments.  Presently  the  queen 
gave  the  sign  for  them  to  begin  their  revels,  and  then  the 
music  struck  up  a  most  ravishing  minstrelsy  ;  the  dancers 
commenced  treading  a  measure  with  such  infinite  grace 
as  hath  never  been  visible  to  mortal  eyes,  and  the  rest 
were  disporting  of  themselves  in  all  parts  of  the  meadow, 
laughing,  jesting,-  feasting,  and  making  merry  with  such 
a  prodigality  of  happiness  as  dull  mortality  hath  no 
knowledge  of.  Some  were  a  hunting  of  the  field-mice 
into  their  holes,  or  driving  the  leaping  frogs  into  the  river, 
with  a  famous  hallooing  and  admirable  cheerful  noise; 
others  of  the  merry  elves  were  amusing  of  themselves 
by  jumping  over  the  toadstools  that  grew  thereabouts, 
and  may  hap  one,  not  being  so  good  a  lea  per  as  his  fel- 
lows, would  jump  clean  into  one  of  these  dry  fungous 
plants,  to  the  near  smothering  of  himself  in  its  dust,  and 
choking  of  his  companions  with  laughter-  Then  some 
of  the  sylphs,  who  were  not  of  the  dancers,  were  engaged 
in  making  wreaths  of  the  delicatest  blossoms  in  season, 
either  for  those  they  affected  of  the  other  sex,  or  for  their 
own  wear.  Others  were  putting  together  a  true-love 
posie.  Here  and  their  might  be  seen  a  ro  i pie,  apart 
from  the  rest,  by  the  exquisite  earnestness  of  their  coun- 
tenances, declaring  themselves  to  be  employed  in  such 
delectable  manner  as  showed  there  was  no  lack  of  affec- 


16  THE    YOUTH    OF   "SHAKSPEARE. 

tionateness  betwixt  them  ;  and  a  company  of  other*  had 
got  in  the  midst  of  them  an  elf  of  a  most  jocund  spirit, 
known  to  divers  hy  the  several  names  of  Puck,  Robin 
Goodfellow,  and  Will-o'-the-Wisp,  who,  as  was  evident 
from  their  faces,  with  his  droll  jests  and  diverting  tricks, 
kept  them  in  a  constant  humor  of  laughing.  Here  would 
be  one  mischievous  elf  running  after  a  sylph  with  a  huge 
worm,  which  it  was  manifest  she  liked  not  the  looks  of; 
and  there  another  pelting  a  companion  with  cowslips, 
who  was  making  ready  to  fling  at  him  with  a  like  missile. 
Everywhere  there  was  the  appearance  of  the  very  ab- 
solutest  free-heartedness  ;  not  a  grave  face  was  to  be 
seen,  not  a  sigh  was  to  be  beard.  In  the  mean1  while 
Oberon  and  Titania  resumed  their  discourse  after  the  fol- 
lowing fashion  : 

"  Despite  the  rating  I  have  had,  sweet  life  !  "  exclaimed  he, 
u  Thy  secret  purpose  still  remains  untold." 

"  Now  art  thou  getting  curious  in  good  truth  !  '-* 
ghe  answered  with  a  smile. 

"Yet  'twould  methinks  be  fitting  punishment 
.  To  keep  thee  ignorant  still,  and  hold  thee  -so  j 
And  now  and  then,  by  deep  mysterious  hints, 
Ambiguous  phrases,  and  quaint  fashioned   words, 
To  fix  thy  patience  on  the  tenter  hooks  ; 
And  then  to  laugh  at  thy  incuriousness." 

"I  prithee  use  me  not  so  cruelly,"  cried  Oberon. 
"  Dost  feel  a  wish  to  learn  this  thing  of  me  ?  " 
asked  his  fair  queen,  earnestly. 

"  By  thy  most  precious  love  I  do  !  "  he  replied. 
"  And  now,  what  wouldst  thou  give  to  know  ?  " 
exclaimed  she  with  great  emphasis. 

"  I'll  give  thee  aught 
That  lieth  in  the  compass  of  my  power," 
replied  he,  with'as  much  earnestness  in  his  looks  as  in  his  word*. 
"  I'll  bid  the  yellow  goblins  of  the  earth 
To  pile  thee  heaps  of  treasure  ;    from  the  deep 
I'll  call  the  fairest  mermaid  of  the  wave 
To  fish  thee  up  the  rarest  pearl  that  lies 
Hid   in  its  secret  caves.     Say  but  the  word, 
I'll  fetch  thee  breezes  from  the  spicy  south, 
Bearing  within  their  overbden    laps 
The  aromatic  breath  and  odors  rare 
Of  balmy  blossoms  and  delicious  gums  : 
Or  frjin  the  ever  glowing  orient 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  17 

Where  the  warm   sky,  like  an  enamored  maid, 

Of  her  too  loving  nature  half  ashamed, 

Looks  on  the  eath   with  a  perpetual  blush, 

All   manner  ot  such  choice  and   tempting  cates 

As  liberal  nature   there  delights   to  show, 

Long  ere  the  circling  hoars  their  task   have  done, 

In  bounteous  banquet  will   I   here  array." 

"All  goodly  gifts  indeed!  "  observed  the  fairy  queen. 
"I'll  hunt  the  air 
To  rob  its  tenants  of  their  courtliest  plumes, 
And  far  and  wide  the  forest  chambers  range 
To  carry  off  their  richest  furniture  ; 
111"  — 

"  Nay,  I  am  content  !  " 
said  she,  interrupting  of  his  speech. 

"  I'll  not  exhaust 
So  prodigal  a  spirit.     Now  attend, 
And  if  thy  curiousness   be  truly  great, 
Thy  ears  must  needs  be   rov  nously   intent 
Upon  devouring   up  my  ev'ry   word." 

This  led  to  the  appearance  of  increased  curionsness 
on  the  part  of  her  lord,  which  Titania  dallied  with  so 
artfully,  that  Oberon  broke  out  into  exceeding  impa- 
tience, whereupon  she  exclaimed  as  if  in  huge  aston- 
ishment :  — 

c-  Forsooth,  and  is  it  so  !     Alack,  my  lord, 
I  marvel  at  a  sight  so  new  and  strange  ! 
Man  can  be  curious  then  ?     How  wonderful  ! 
It  hath   been  said  that  womankind  alone 

curionsness,   whilst  man  too  proud, 
Too  great,  too  good  to  have  such  poor  defects, 
Lived  io  incurious  ease  his  nobler  life. 
V  by,  what  a  ch  inge  is  here  !    Well,  I  have  done  — 
My  object  gained.  I'll  now  my  thoughts  unfold." 

"  Ah  prithee  do  !  "  said  Oberon.     Then  continued  she, 
u  Thou   know'st  with  what  great  love 

I  do  regard  the  children  of  this  isle, — 

II  >\v  long  and  deeply  I  have  longed  to   lint! 
Some   gentle   nature   fed    by    glorious  thoughts, 
In    whose   delighting  spirit  I   could  breathe 
The   love  of  all   things   excellent  and   true, 
That  he   might  be   found   worthy  of  our  care 
Whilst   we   in   him   took   pnfittble    heed. 
Thou   knowest  with   what  earnestness  of  heart 
I've  scoght  for  one  so   lovingly   disposed, 
And   found   him   not;     thou  knovvest  too 

Of  all  the  sweetest  spots  in  this  fair  land, 

VOL.  I.  2* 


18  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

This  town  of  merry  Stratford,  and  the  stream 

That  glides  in  graceful   beauty  at  its  side, 

1   most  affect  —  for  honest. simple  souls 

There  crowd  the  chimney  nook,  and  listen  long 

With  firm  belief  and  pleasure  undisguised, 

To  frequent  tales  of  fairy   worthiness, 

Till  bedtime  come;    and  then  hie  they  to  bed 

And  dream  of  music,  flowers,  and  lovely  shapes, 

And  innocent  revelry  and  decent  mirth, 

Till  Chanticleer's  shrill  clarion  wake  them  up 

In  cheerful  labor  to  wear  out  the  day." 

M  Ay  !  "  exclaimed  her  lord,  smiling. 

"  And  if  Puck  but  chance  to  have  been  there, 
Doubt  not  this  trust  of  theirs  in  our  good  help 
Make  sport  for  him  and  some  mischance  for  them. 
Mayhap  some  starveling  burgess  through  the  night 
In  "dreams  shall  feast  on  princely  delicates, 
And  wake  without  a  crust  to  break  his  fast; 
Or  that  some  pedlar's  vife,  both  poor  and  proud, 
For  hours  shall  play  the  lady  bountiful, 
Till  from  the  rushes  she  is  forced  to  rise 
To  mend  the  patch-work  of  her  husband's  slops." 

"  Talk  not  to  me  of  Puck,  the  graceless  elf !  "  cried  Titania.. 

"  He  shall  be  whipped  with  nettles,  if  he  dare 
Intrude  his  tricksy  spirit  'neath  their  roofs  ; 
But  hear  me  out.     There  dwells  in  yonder  town 
A   modest  wife  with  all  kind  feelings  blessed, 
Rich  in  a  woman's  riches,  virtuous  thoughts  ; 
Gentle  and  generous,  simple,  fond,  and  true, 
Careful  of  house,  and  of  a  famous  thrift ; 
And  she  a  mother  is  about  to  be. 
This  child  unborn  I  know  will  prove  a  boy, 
Under  mine  own  eyes  shall  this  boy  be  reared, 
1   will  his  dispositior   mold  and  shape, 
And   make  his   nature  show  the  fairest  signs 
That  ever  blessed  a  mortal.     Of  his  mind 
I'll  form   a  storehouse  of  the  noblest  thoughts  ; 
The  lore  of  Nature's  many-leafed  works 
He  there  shall  garner  liberally  and   well, 
Until   it  holds  the  library  complete; 
And  in  his  heart  a  treasury  I'll  rear 
Of  sweet  affections,  honorable  desires, 
Fond  aspirations,  feelings  high  and   proud, 
And  sympathies  for  all  things  beautiful  ; 
Then  by   the  hand   this  gentle  boy   I'll  lead 
Into  tho  lovely   places  of  the  earth, 
And   show   him  all  the   dolicatost  sights. — 
The   field,   the  forest,   valley,  stream,   and   hill, 
The  exquisite  sweet  blossoms  newly  blown. 
And  the   fair  sky   that  spins  and  shines  o'er  all  ; 
The   whilst  within   his  ravished  ears  shall   gl,v-* 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  19 

An  everlasting  concert  of  delight, 
From  the  soft  breeze,  the  rustling  trees,  the  wave 
That  makes  its  path   in   music. — from   the  herd, 
The  flock,  the  hive,  and  all  the  feathered  quires 
That  thrill  the  air  with   melodies  divine  ; 
Unto  the  merry  cricket's  silvery  chirp, 
Or  shrill  sweet  pipe  of  cheerful  grasshopper." 
"  Methinks  that  boy  must  lead  a  pleasant  life," 
observed  her  lord. 

"  He  shall  find  pleasure,  seek  it  where  he  will,"  she  replied. 
"  For  in  his  eyes  shall  dwell  a  power  to  see, 
And   in  his  breast  an  impulse  to  enjoy 
The  pleasantest  things   that  nature  doth   possess  ; 
And   every   pleasure  shall  a  lesson   bring, 
And  every  lesson  be   with  pleasure  learned. 
The  loving  hopes  that  grace  humanity  ; 
The  fears,  the  cares,  the   passions,  and   the  joys, 
That  wrestle   with  its  spirit ;    the  deep   throes 
Ambition   dies   with,  and  the  gnashing  pain 
With  which  revenge   is  born  ;   the   mighty  stilt* 
Whereon  pride   mounts  its  glaring  littleness  ; 
The  mean   resorts  where  cunning  loves  to  hide  ; 
The  selfish   wants  that  avarice  keeps  and   kills; 
And   the  great  gluttony  that  eats  itself, 
Shall   in   his  vision  prominently   live. 
But   with  the  knowledge  of  the  human   world 
To  him   shall   come  a  learning  more  refined, 
Drawn  from  a  brighter,  better,  wiser  source. 
The  gems   that  stud  the  canopy  of  night 
When  Time  proclaims  the  burial  of  the   day, 
And  those  of  daintier  sort,  though  lowlier  born, 
That  give  the  air  its  life,  and  earth   its  grace, 
Shall   fill   his  soul   with   mpaningrs  ounint  and   new  ; 
From  the  deep  shadows  of  the  reverend  woods, 
And   noon-tide  sunshine   in    its  goluen   streams, 
He  shall   bring  marvels  :   in  the   quiet  light 
Of  the  fair   moon   and   her  fair  company, 
A   throng  of  starry  thoughts  that  never  set, 
Under  the  shelving  banks  of  the  tall   hedge, 
And   by  the   margin  of  the   pebbly  brook, 
And   'mid  the  mosses  of  the  abbey    wall, 
And   round   about  the  antiquated   trunks 
Of  forest  giants  bare  of  leaf  and  branch, 
He  shall   discover  sage  authorities 
Oft  to  be   quoted  at  a  future   day. 
And   wheresoever  he   ventureth   himself, 
Whether   along   tbfl   open    fields   he   strays, 
When   blooming  beauty   woos  him   as  he   walks, 
Or  through  the  tangled  copse  he  makes  a  path, 
Where  songs  of  welcome  burst  from  every  tree, 
Or  -by  the  Avon's  winding  bed  he  roams, 


20  THE    YOUTH    OF     SH  AKSPE  ARE. 

That  offers  to  his  vycx  the  glittering  shower 

With  whir.li   this  yielding   Danau   is   won. 

A    thousand   servitors  shall   round   him    throng, 

With  loving  guidance  keeping  him  from   harm; 

Sport   in    the    beam   that   seeks   to  dim    his   g;ize, 

Bend   the   low    twig  and   catch   the  falling  branch 

That  bars   his    way   or  topples   on    his   head  ; 

And  where  his  look  in  marvelous  wonder  falls, 

Hold  up  the  fairest  blossoms  to  its  view, 

And   show  him  where  earth's  choicest  sights  lie  hid/' 

"  But  for  what  purport  are  these  things  to  be  ?  " 
asked  Oberon. 

':That  with  a  nature  so  divinely  reared," 
replied  his  admirable  companion, 

"  And  with  a  knowledge  so  profoundly  gained, 
He  to  the  people  of  this  favored  isle 
Shall  present  pleasure  bounteously  afford, 
And  be  a  glory  in  all  alter  times." 

"  A  purport  worthy  of  the  Fairy  Queen  !  " 
exclaimed   her  lord. 

"  And  I  that  boy  from  manhood's  sterner  days, 
Will   take  in  charge,  that  no  ungraeijus  deeds 
May  mar  the  beauty  of  his  after  life. 
But  struggles  must  he  have,  and  griefs,  and  pains, 
And  disappointments  terrible  to  boar  ; 
And  then  prosperity,  and  friends,  and  fame, 
And  honors  that  true   greatness  loves  to  see, 
Shall  try  the  temper  of  his  metal  well. 
And  prove  to  all  his  quality  and  worth." 

Now  there  was  seen  amongst  them  sueb  abundance  of 
pleasant  pastime,  as  was  quite  a  marvel  to  behold,  in  the 
which  the  tricksy  Will-o'the-Wisp,  or  Puck,  or  Robin 
Goodfellow,  as  he  was  variously  called,  did  appear  to  en- 
joy himself  to  the  very  bent  of  his  humor,  in  the  mean 
while,  Titania  and  Oberon,  having  sufficiently  discoursed 
of  their  intentions  regarding  the  boy  mentioned  by  them, 
moved  from  the  banquet,  and  were  soon  pleasantly  en- 
gaged treading  of  a  measure  to  the  delicatest  music  ever 
known.  All  of  a  sudden  as  they  were  disporting  of 
themselves,  every  one  of  them  very  merrily,  there  came 
one  hastening  from  the  other  end  of  the  meadow,  crying 
out  something,  the  which  as  soon  as  it  was  heard,  banquet, 
canopy,  dancers,  musicians,  and  all  the  fairy  world  disap- 
peared in  the  twinkling  of  an    eye  ;  and   of  that  gallant 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  21 

company  no  vestige  now  remained.  The  blades  of  the 
young  grass,  unharmed  by  the  light  footfalls  of  the  tiny 
dancers,  bent  to  the  midnight  wind.  The  frogs  came 
peeping  from  the  rushes,  and  thetimid  water-rat  ventured 
to  put  her  head  out  of  the  covered  hole  beneath  the  riv- 
er's bank,  wherein  she  had   made  her  home. 

"  It  be  woundy  cold  o'  nights,  still  dame,  for  all  it  be 
getting  so  nigh  unto  the  flowery  month  of  .May,"  ex- 
claimed an  awkward  varlet,  looking  to  be  something  be- 
twixt man  and  boy,  and  dressed  in  a  humble  suit  of  russet, 
famously  worn  and  soiled,  that  fitted  him  not  at  all,  as, 
carrying  of  a  hiii{e  lanthorn  with  outstretched  arm  before 
him,  he  seemed  to  be  guiding  of  a  short  stout  woman, 
well  wrapped  up  in  a  serviceable  cloak  and  muffler,  who 
bent  her  steps  through  the  field  towards  the  neighboring 
town. 

"  Ay,  it  be  cold  enough,  out  of  all  doubt,"  replied  his 
companion,  in  a  quick  thick  voice,  half  swallowed  in  her 
muffler,  as  she  endeavored  to  keep  as  near  as  possible  to 
his  heels.  "  Yet  do  I  remember  me  a  colder  night  than 
this,  two  year  ago  this  very  day." 

■k  Odd  zooks  1  was  it  so  indeed  ?"  asked  the  other  in 
a  tone  of  monstrous  wondering. 

"  Ay,  that  was  it,  Humphrey,"  replied  the  woman  with 
impressive  earnestness.  "  That  night  I  had  laid  me  down 
to  rest  my  weary  bones,  and  nigh  unto  midnight  I  had 
oot  me  into  the  comfortablest  slumber,  weary  body  ever 
had,  when  there  came  at  the  gate  so  huge  a  noise,  I  had 
like  to  have  been  frightened  out  of  my  sleep  and  my  wits 
too.  1  dressed  me  in  a  presently,  wondering  who  could 
be  a  sending  at  that  time,  not  expecting  to  hear  from 
Mistress  Hathaway,  for  a  month  to  come,  nor  from  Dame 
Hart,  for  a  full  week  ;  when,  looking  out  from  the  lattice 
I  spied  a  horseman,  in  a  cloak  that  swept  down  close  upon 
his  horse's  heels,  who,  in  a  terrible  high  voice,  bade  me 
come  quick,  for  life  and  death  depended  on  my  speed. 
Thereupon,  as   may  be  supposed  of  me,  I  made  all   con- 


22  THE    YOUTH     OF     SUAKSPEARE. 

venient  haste  in  my  appareling, — for  thou  knowest, 
Humphrey,  I  like  to  keep  none  waiting." 

"  O  my  life,  Gammer  Lambswool,"  exclaimed  the 
other  drily,  "  kept  you  not  me  an  hour  by  the  clock,  ere 
1  got  sight  of  you,  I  know  not  what  waiting  means." 

"  Nay,  nay, —  thou  couldst  not  have  been  r.t  the  gate 
so  long  as  that,"  replied  the  old  woman  ;  "  for  ere  thou 
hadst  well  knocked  twice,  I  called  to  thee  from  the 
lattice." 

"  So  God  me  save,"  cried  out  Humphrey,  with  won- 
derful emphasis,  "I  knocked  some  score  of  times — to  say 
nought  of  the  monstrous  bawling  1  kept  up,  loud  enough 
to  wake  the  seven  sleepers  :  and  I  doubt  not  at  all,  mas- 
ter will  give  me  a  taste  of  the  cudgel  for  having  tarried 
so  long." 

"  He  shall  do  thee  no  such  unkind  office,  be  assured," 
said  Gammer  Lambswool,  "  for  I  will  take  care  to  bear 
thee  blameless  in  the  matter.  But  to  return  to  what  I 
was  a  saying,"  added  she,  too  glad  at  having  a  listener  to 
let  him  off  without  the  whole  story.  "On  coming 
to  the  gate,  the  stranger  was  for  having  me  mount 
upon  a  pillion  behind  him,  which  I  liked  not  at  first;  but 
upon  his  pressing  the  emergency  of  the  case,  and  placing 
a  gold  piece  in  my  hand,  I  made  no  more  to  do — for  I 
like  not  appearing  overscrupulous  in  matters  of  jeopardy, 
the  more  especially  when  an  honest  wager  is  to  be  gained 
by  it.  I  had  scarce  got  my  seat  when  the  stranger  said 
he  must  needs  blind-fold  me,  the  which  I  liked  less  than 
the  other;  but  upon  his  assuring  me  I  should  suffer  no  harm, 
and  placing  another  gold  piece  in  my  hand,  I  suffered  it 
to  be  done,  for  thinks,  I  mayhap,  the  occasion  requireth 
secresy  ;  and  I  oft  had  a  huge  suspicion  there  was  no 
necessity  for  me  to  seem  to  know  more  than  those  who 
required  my  aid,  would  allow  ;  if  so  be  they  paid  me 
well  for  holding  of  my  curiousness." 

"  Here  be  a  villainous  thick  cloud  about  to  cover  up 
the  moon,  and  he  banged  to  it  ?"  exclaimed  her  compan- 
ion in  a  tone  of  vexation,  as,   with  a  face  waxing  marvel- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE,  23 

ously  fearful,  he  watched  ihe  approach  of  abroad  black 
cloud  spreading  over  the  sky.  "  Make  more  speed  I 
pray  you,  good  Gammer,  else  shall  we  be  ieft  in  the  dark 
before  we  have  got  out  of  this  field,  which  hath  the  bor- 
ridest  reputation  of  any  place  in  these  parts  \  and  1  like 
not  passing  through  it  at  this  late  hour,  1  promise  you." 
"In  honest  truth  it  be  not  in  good  repute,"  observed 
the  old  woman,  quickening  her  pace  somewhat.  "Un- 
natural strange  sights  have  been  seen  here,  and  it  be  well 
known  that  they  by  whom. they  have  been  looked  on, 
have  never  been  themselves  since.  But  to  my  story, 
Hardly  had  he  blindfolded  me,  when  he  spurred  his  horse 
to  so  monstrous  a  pace,  that  it  seemed  more  like  unto  fly- 
ing than  riding  ;  and,  not  having  been  used  to  such,  per- 
chance I  should  soon  have  been  jolted  from  my  seat,  had 
not  I  held  my  companion  round  the  girdle  as  firm  as  a 
vice.  Now  began  I  to  repent  of  my  too  great  will- 
ingness to  venture  on  this  errand.  I  was  going  I 
knew  not  where,  with  I  knew  not  whom,  to  do  I 
knew  not  what  ;  but  when  I  bethought  me  of  the 
stranger's  largess,  I  took  heart,  for  out  of  all  doubt  a 
piece  of  gold  is  a  notable  fine  recommendation  in  a  new 
acquaintance  !  and  methinks  it  be  ungrateful  to  think  ill 
of  those  who  have  behaved  handsomely  to  you  ;  so  I 
said  nought,  and  proceeded  on  my  journey  with  as  much 
contentation  as  I  might." 

"  A  grace  of  God,  Gammer,  make  more  speed  !"   cried 
her  companion  earnestly. 

"  I  be  getting  on  as  fast  as  my  old  legs  can  carry  me," 
answered  she;  and  then  continued  her  gossip.  "  Well, 
we  traveled  on  at  this  terrible  pace  for  1  know  not  how 
long  a  time,  till  the  horse  came  to  a  dead  stop  ;  and,  with 
an  injunction  to  be  silent,  my  companion  quickly  alight- 
ed, carried  me  some  little  distance  in  his  arms,  led  me  up 
some  steps,  and  then  leading  me  yet  a  little  further,  sud- 
denly pulled  the  bandage  off  my  eyes.  1  found  myself 
in  a  very  stately  chamber,  having  the  most  costly  hang- 
ings eye  ever  beheld,  and   everything  of  a  like  splendor 


24  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

about  it.  Lights  were  burning  on  a  table  close  upon  the 
bed's  foot,  but  I  had  not  time  to  notice  one  half  of  what 
was  there,  when  my  conductor  haughtily  bade  me  look 
to  my  patient,  as  he  pointed  to  the  bed  ;  and  hearing  a 
most  piteous  groan,  I  hastened  to  do  his  bidding." 

"  Mercy,  good  Gammer,  make  more  speed  !  These 
clouds  be  close  upon  the  moon,  and  we  not  half  through 
this  terrible  field  yet;"  cried  Humphrey,  evidently  more 
attentive  to  the  look  of  the  sky  than  the  speech  of  his 
companion. 

"  Marry,  'tis  so  sure  enough  !"  exclaimed  the  old  dame, 
taking  a  hasty  glance  at  the  moon.  "  Well,  there  found 
I  a  dainty  young  creature  assuredly  in  as  doleful  a  strait  as 
poor  lady  ever  was  ;  and  I  came  in  the  very  nick  of  time, 
to  do  her  such  desirable  service  as  she  required  of  me.  I 
sought  to  give  her  what  comfort  I  could,  but  I  was  stop- 
ped by  the  voice  of  him  who  had  brought  me  angrily  bid- 
ding me  hold  my  prate,  and  speed  my  office  ;  and  then 
broke  he  out  into  such  bitter  invectives  against  the  poor 
lady,  as  were  dreadful  to  hear,  to  the  which  she  replied 
never  a  word,  for  indeed  she  could  not,  she  was  in  such 
severe  travail.  At  last,  to  my  great  joy,  the  lady  became 
a  mother  ;  but  scarce  had  I  took  the  babe  in  my  arms, 
when  my  gentleman,  who  had  been  all  this  time  striding 
across  the  room,  seemingly  in  a  horrible  bad  humor,  hear- 
ing the  child  cry,  darted  towards  me,  snatched  it  rudely 
away,  and  hurried  out  of  the  room  with  it.  I  felt  at  that 
moment  as  if  'twould  be  an  easy  matter  to  knock  me  down 
with  a  feather.  1  could  have  no  doubt  there  was  a  most 
cruel  mischief  a-doing,  and  my  blood  run  cold  within  me, 
at  the  thought  of  it." 

"  There  !  the  moon  hath  gone  clean  out  of  sight  !"  ex- 
claimed Humphrey,  as  if  in  utter  despair.  "  Alack,  what 
an  unchristian  place  for  an  honest  poor  body  to  be  in  at 
this  late  hour." 

"  Well,  we  must  e'en  get  on  as  well  as  we  can,  and 
the  lanthorn  will  help  us  to  make  sure  we  go  not  astray," 
observed  the  other,  consolingly. 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE.  25 

"  What  to  do  I  knew  not,"  continued  she.  "  The 
poor  mother  looked  to  be  scarce  alive,  that  was  pitiful 
enough  to  see,  let  her  fault  have  been  what  it  might ;  but 
taking  away  the  life  of  an  innocent  babe  that  had  scarce 
began  to  breathe,  could  not  be  ought  else  than  a  very 
devilish  and  unnatural  murder." 

"  Nay,  talk  not  of  murder  I  pray  you,  good  Gammer!" 
cried  her  companion  very  movingly  ;  "  1  cannot  see  the 
length  of  my  arm,  and  1  know  not  what  monstrous  fear- 
ful things  may  be  in  the  darkness,  ready  to  pounce  out 
upon  us." 

"  Nothing  unnatural  can  hurt  you  if  you  be  not  evil  in- 
clined, let  them  here  lie  ever  so  thick,"  observed  the  old 
dame ;  but  this  seemed  not  to  add  much  to  the  other's 
small  stock  of  courage,  for  he  continued  to  walk  along, 
looking  suspiciously  about  him  in  as  perfect  a  fear  as  ever 
was,  whilst  Gammer  Lambswool  strove  to  keep  as  close 
at  his  heels  as  she  could. 

"  Ere  I  could  recover  myself  from  the  strange  fright, 
what  had  been  that  moment  done,  had  put  me  in,  he  re- 
turned, and  without  the  child,"  added  she  with  much  em- 
phasis. "  Whereupon  I  was  so  confounded  and  terrified 
at  the  sight  of  him,  that  I  remember  not  what  further  took 
place,  till  I  found  myself  at  mine  own  door  with  a  full 
purse  in  my  hand  ;  but  less  glad  at  the  sight  of  it  than  I 
was  to  be  quit  of  the  villain's  company." 

"  Mercy,  Gammer,  what  be  that  ?"  cried  Humphrey,  in 
a  monstrous  fearful  voice,  as  he  lifted  up  his  lantern, 
evidently  a  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  seemed  to  be 
gazing  at  something  in  the  distance. 

"  Where.  I  pray  you  !"  inquired  the  other,  eagerly,  as 
she  strove  to  raise  herself  on  her  toes  for  to  peep  over 
his  shoulder. 

"  It  moves  !  "  whispered  her  companion,  drawing  his 
breath  hard. 

"  Heaven  save  us  from  all  harm  !"  muttered  the  old 
woman,  beginning  to  partake  of  the  other's  alarm,  though 
she  knew  not  as  yet  what  it  was  caused  by. 

VOL.        I.  3 


26  THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

"  By  St.  Nicholas,  it  be  making  towards  us  !"  added 
he,  as  plainly  as  his  fright  would  allow,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  lantern  dropped  from  his  trembling  hands,  and 
he  fell  on  his  knees,  saying  of  his  prayers,  with  his  teeth 
a  chattering  as  if  he  was  taken  with  an  ague.  Gammer 
Lambs  wool,  being  in  the  dark — for  their  light  had  been 
extinguished  by  the  fall — and  hearing  something  ap- 
proaching, was  about  to  take  to  her  prayers  also,  when 
she  was  startled  by  a  quick  succession  of  blows,  that 
seemed  to  fall  upon  her  companion  with  a  force  that  quick- 
ly put  all  conceit  of  a  ghost  out  of  her  head. 

"  Why,  thou  idling  *varlet  !"  exclaimed  a  voice  close 
beside  her.  "  Wert  not  strictly  told  not  to  tarry  a  mo- 
ment, and  thou  hast  been  gone  nigh  these  two  hours  past 
-^-a  murrain  on  thee." 

"  Oh,  master !  "  bawled  Humphrey,  most  lustily,  writh- 
ing under  the  punishment  he  was  receiving.  "  Hurt  me 
no  more,  I  pray  you.  Mercy,  good  master!  In  honest 
truth  I  tarried  no  more  than  1  conld  help." 

*'  Indeed^  Master  Shnkspeare,  he  is  not  to  blame,  for  1 
was  hindered  from  coming,"  cried  the  old  woman. 
"But  tell  me,  1  beseech  vou,  how  farelh  your  sweet 
wife?" 

"•Badly,  as  she  needs  must,  when  she  hath  been  cry- 
ing out  for  you  so  long,"  answered  he,  as  if  somewhat  out 
of  humor." 

"  Well,  dear  heart,  lead  yon  the  way,  I  will  haste  to 
her  without  a  moment's  more  delaying,"  said  the  (Jam- 
mer, in  a  sort  of  coaxing  voice  ;  upon  which  Humphrey, 
picking  up  his  lantern,  and  quite  forgetting  his  fear  in 
the  cudgeling  he  had  lately  had,  although,  in  honest 
truth,  he  had  been  scarce  .hurt  at  all, — seeing  his  master 
and  the  midwife  moving  off  as  fast  as  they  could — kept 
close  to  their  heels  till  they  reached  John  Shakspeare's 
dwelling  in   llenlev  Street. 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE.  21 


CHAPTER  II. 

At  first    THE    INFANT. 

SlLlKSPEARK. 

Porter.  On  my    Christian    conscience,   this   one   christening   will 
beget  a  thousand  ;     here  will  be  father,  godfather,    and  all  together. 
Man.  The  spoons  will  be  the  bigger,  sir. 

Ibid. 

He  ruleth  all  the  roast 
With  bragging  and  with  boast, 
Borne  up  on  every  side 
With  pomp  and  with  pride. 

John  Skelton. 

No    quarreling,  for  God's  sake  !  Truly    if    you  do,   I    shall  set  a- 
knave  between  ye. 

Thomas  Heywood.     (A   Woman  killed  with  ki7id)icss.) 

Now  was  there  an  admirable  jovial  company  assem- 
bled at  the  dwelling  of  Dame  Shakspeare,  to  do  honor  to 
the  christening  of  her  child,  and  among  them  were  many 
of  the  worthy  burgesses  of  Stratford  ;  for  be  it  under- 
stood, John  Shakspeare  was  known  to  be  a  thriving  man, 
and  such  are  sure  to  have  no  lack  of  acquaintances  ;  and 
his  excellent  partner  having  come  of  a  family  of  some 
repute  in  those  parts,  being  no  other  than  the  heiress  of 
Arden,  was  much  looked  up  to;  and,  as  she  appeared 
unto  all,  of  an  honest  kind  heart  and  admirable  sweet  na- 
ture, she  possessed  every  one's  good  word  f*  of  which  the 
consequence  was,  the  bouse  could  scarce  contain  the  com- 
pany the  occasion  had  assembled.  Some  stood  about  the 
porch  jesting  and  making  merry;  others  were  in  the  garden, 
especially  of  the  younger  sort,  amusing  themselves  with 
pleasant  talk  one  with  another.  One  or  two  decent 
motherly  dames  were  in  the    kitchen  bustling  to  and  fro, 


XO  THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

looking  to  the  dinner,  of  which  a  huge  fire  covered  with 
pots  and  kettles,  and  having  a  famous  large  joint  at  the 
spit,  a  little  ragged  urchin  kept  turning — being  well  mind- 
ed of  all  not  to  let  it  burn — showed  some  preparation — 
the  whilst  a  stout  wench  with  famous  red  cheeks  and  el- 
bows, evidently  in  her  best  finery,  along  with  Humphrey, 
in  his  Sunday  jerkin,  kept  hurrying  in  and  out,  laden  with 
knives,  napery,  drinking  vessels,  trenches,  and  other  need- 
ful things  at  a  feasting. 

In  the  best  chamber  of  the  whole  house  which  looked 
to  be  newly   strewed    with   fresh    rushes,   and   garnished 
here  and  there  with  such  flowers  as  were  in  season,  some 
in  china   bowls,  and  some  in  parcel-gilt  goblets,  there  was 
a  large  recess,  made   by  that  end  of  the    room   abutting 
out  into  the  street,  wherein   were   most   of  the   principal 
personages  of  the  company.     First,  for  in  respect  of  his 
calling,  I  would  give  him  precedency  of  the  others,  there 
sat  Sir  Nathaniel  the  curate,  easily  to    be   known   by  his 
portly  person,  his  merry  eye,  his  loud  laugh,  and  his  free 
speech.     It  was  bruited  abroad  that  he  loved  good  living 
better  than  became  a  churchman,  and  his  maple  face  and 
famous  round  belly,  did   confirm  such  tales  wonderfully. 
In  apparel  he  was  slovenly,  and  not  over  clean  in  his  lin- 
en ;   but  being  of  a    ready  wit    and  of  a  cheerful  humor, 
he  went  on  from  day  to  day  feasting  wherever  there  was 
any  store  of  victual,  a   welcome  if  not  an  honored  guest. 
Beside  him  was  one    Stripes  the  schoolmaster,  and,   as 
folks  said,  a  notable  conjuror,  who    had   a  very  lean  look 
with  him,  and  wore  such  garments  as  seemed  to  be  clean 
past   all  recovery  of  tailoring,   they    were  so  threadbare. 
By  what  was  going  on,  it  appeared  as  if  he  was  content 
to  be  the  butt  of  the  other,  for    he  took    in   good  part  all 
the  jests  the  curate  aimed  at  his  shrunk   shanks,   his  lan- 
tern   jaws,  his  darned  hose,  and  his  old  fashioned  doublet, 
and    moreover   assented    to    what   the  other  said,  with  a 
readiness  that  savored  much  of  servility.   Nearer  this  way 
sat  a  substantial  looking  yeoman,  by  name  Richard  Hath- 
away, clad  in  honest   homespun,  in  deep    discourse   with 
a    neighboring    wealthy    sheep    farmer,    concerning   the 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  29 

market  price  of  wool,  the  state  of  the  crops,  and  the  like 
matters.  A  knot  of  burgesses  were  standing  round  two 
aldermen  of  the  town,  who  were  debating  very  stoutly 
upon  business  connected  with  the  corporation  ;  and  the 
parish  clerk,  a  little  dumpy  man,  with  monstrous  thick 
legs,  was  leaning  half  out  of  the  casement,  in  earnest  talk 
with  some  one  in  the  street  below. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  chamber  were  all  the  women 
congregated,  appareled  in  their  very  best,  and  talking  as 
though  none  had  a  mind  to   listen.      The   rich   farmer's 
wife,  sitting  very  stately  in  a  robe  of  fine   scarlet,  with  a 
white  hood,  a  gay  purse,  and  a  bunch  of  keys  at  her  side, 
hanging    from  a  silken  belt   of  silver  tissue  ;    whilst   her 
waist  was  bound  with  a   sash    of  grass-green   silk   richly 
embroidered,    no  lack  of  jewels   about  her,  and  on    each 
finder   two   rings    at  least,  divided   the  admiration  of  her 
companions  with  the  aldermen's  wives  in  watcbet-colored 
tunics  and   fringed    kirtles,  with    golden    coifs  and  other 
costly  toys,  wherewith  they  had   attired   themselves.     In 
the  midst  of  them  sat  Darne  Shakspeare,   modestly   and 
i  matronly  clad,  and  without  doubt,  as  seemly  a  woman  as 
any  there,  looking  contented  and  happy,  and  giving  very 
earnest    thanks    to   her  good  friends    and   guests    as  they 
made   up  to   her  with  some  pretty  gift  or  another — may- 
hap, a  set  of  apostle  spoons,  or  a  standing   cup  of  silver, 
or  a  gilt  bowl,  for  the    boy,  who,  with    the  chrisom-cloth 
about  him  in  token  of  his  recent  baptism,  lay  in  the  arms 
of  his  nurse — a  rosy  faced   dame,  who  stood   beside   her 
mistress  commending  of  the  babe   to   all    comers   above 
babes  that  ever  lived.      And  lastly,  by  the  door,  giving  a 
hearty  welcome   to  all  who  entered,  dressed  ill   an  excel- 
lent suit  of  Lincoln  green,  and  having  as  cheerful  face  as 
a   man    ever   wore,    stood  worthy    John    Shakspeare,  the 
giver  of  the  feast. 

"Gome  in,  neighbors  !  I  pray  you  come  in  1"  exclaim- 
ed he,  as  some  were  entering.  "  I  am  heartily  glad  to 
see  you,  and  my  good  dame  be  as  ready  to  give  you  a 
welcome  I'll  be    bound    for't.     Well  met  Thomas  Hart  ! 

VOL.       I.  3* 


30  THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

Robert  Bruce  I  commend  me  to  your  good  will.  Wor- 
thy Hamnet  Sadler  1  am  much  beholden  to  you  for  this 
visit.  Ha,  Oliver  Dumps  1"  cried  he,  as  his  eyes  light- 
ed on  a  melancholy  looking  little  man,  in  a  new  leath- 
ern jerkin  and  black  karsie  hose.  "  Though  most  men 
hugely  mislike  visits  of  the  constable,  1  greet  you  well." 

"  God  requite  you,  neighbor,"  answered  the  man,  not 
altering  a  whit  the  solemness  of  his  aspect. 

"  Methinks  we  are  all  indifferently  honest,"  continu- 
ed his  host.  "  Yet  are  we  well  inclined  you  should  ex- 
ercise your  office  amongst  us  with  as  little  hindrance  as 
may  be." 

"  Marry,  'tis  a  villainous  world  !"  exclaimed  the  con- 
stable. "  But  if  any  dishonesty  hath  been  done,  point 
me  out  the  knave,  that  I  may  take  him  up  before  his 
worship." 

"  Nay,  by  your  leave  not  so,  "  replied  the  other.  "  If 
you  are  for  taking  up,  we  are  only  willing  you  should 
take  up  the  dinner  :  but  with  such  an  offender  we  doubt 
not  being  able  to  play  the  high  bailiff  as  well  as  any  in 
the  county,  and  would  on  the  instant  commit  him  to  safe 
custody,  in  our  own  keeping."  Thereupon  there  was  a 
laugh  of  those  around  ;  for  when  the  host  taketh  upon 
himself  to  jest,  even  if  his  wit  be  not  of  the  brightest, 
the  guests  must  lack  good  manners  sadly,  if  their  mirth 
break  not  out  at  it  without  stinting^ 

"  See  you,  John  a  Combe?"  inquired  the  buxom 
wife  of  one  of  the  alderman  to  the  other,  as  they  now 
stood  somewhat  apart  from  the  rest,  observing  the  scene 
1  have  endeavored  to  describe. 

"  Ay,  yonder  is  he,  Mistress  Alderman  Malrmey,"  re» 
plied  the  other,  pointing  to  one  who  had  just  entered, 
and  seemed  by  his  apparel  to  be  somewhat  of  a  gallant, 
for  he  was  very  daintily  dressed  in  a  new  puce-colored 
doublet,  with  scarlet  hose,  buff  shoes,  and  fine  rosettes 
to  them  :  a  well  starched  ruff  below  his  beard,  and  a 
handsome  rapier  at  his  girdle. 

"  By  our  Lady,  Mistress  Alderman  Dowlas,  he  bear* 
eth  himself  bravely,"  exclaimed  the  first. 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE.  31 

"  I'faith  rnethinks  he  is  as  pretty  a  man  as  any  of  his 
inches,"   added  the  other. 

"  And  then  to  note  how  civilly  he  behaveth  himself," 
continued  Dame  Malmsey.  "  He  ever  speaketh  of  us 
women  in  such  delicate  respectful  terms  as  uould  do  a 
woman's  heart  good  to  hear  ;  and  if  any  so  much  as  in- 
sinuate ought  to  our  prejudice,  it  moveth  him  so,  he  will 
be  ready  to  fight  the  biggest  man  of  them  all." 

"  And  yet  1  marvel  he  should  still  remain  a  bachelor," 
observed  Dame  Dowlas.  "  He  cannot  be  less  than  a 
good  manly  age,  for  as  Master  Alderman,  my  husband, 
hath  told  me,  it  was  twenty-five  years  come  Whitsuntide, 
since  old  John  a  Combe  bought  his  wedding  suit  of  his 
father;  and  that  he  is  well  accommodated  for  a  wife 
there  can  be  no  question,  seeing  that  he  hath  ever  a  fair 
sum  of  money  in  his  purse  at  a  friend's  need,  and  old 
John  a  Combe  hath  the  reputation  of  well  filled  coffers." 

"  Perchance  the  old  man  is  not  willing  his  son  should 
marry,"  said  her  companion.  "Or,  mayhap,  thinks  it 
fit  he  should  wed  with  none  but  the  chiefest  families,  for 
he  hath  taken  infinite  pains,  and  spared  not  the  cost,  he 
should  have  as  good  schooling  as  any  in  the  land  ; 
whereof  the  consequence  is,  you  shall  find  young  John  a 
Combe  one  of  the  properest  gentlemen  to  be  met  with 
in  all    Warwickshire." 

"  Certes,  he  seemeth  not  to  affect  one  more  than  an- 
other," exclaimed  Dame  Malmsey.  "  But  I  would  wager 
my  bestkirtle,  there  is  never  a  maid  for  five  miles  round 
Stratford,  who  would  not  give  her  ears  to  have  him  for  a 
husband." 

"In  all  sincerity  I  say  it,  I  wish  he  may  find  a  wife 
worthy  of  him,"  said  the  other,  to  which  her  companion 
added  a  like  sincere  wish,  In  the  meanwhile,  the  object 
of  their  friendly  commendations  passed  across  the  cham- 
ber, very  courteou  ly  returning  the  courtesies  of  those 
he  met, — and  few  were  there  that  did  not  hapten  to  greet 
him,  as  soon  as  they  caught  sight  of  him  at  his  entrance, 


32  THK    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEAttti. 

which  showed  in  what  estimation  he  was.  These  as 
quickly  as  he  well  could  be  parted  from,  and  made  up  to 
Dame  Shakspeare,  who  with  a  face  radient  with  her 
choicest  smiles,  gave  him  her  hand  at  his  approach. 

"  I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  1  h;:ve  come  so  late," 
said  he  to  her,  in  a  very  soft  gentlemanlike  voice  ;  "  I 
have  been  detained  against  my  will,  else  would  1  have 
been  here  long  since." 

"I  pray  you,  trouble  not  yourself  about  it,"  replied 
she,  with  an  excellent  pleasant  kindness.  "  Believe  me 
you  are  infinitely  welcome,  Master  Combe,  honor  our 
poor  dwelling  when  you  will." 

"  In  sooth,  I  regret  exceedingly  not  having  sooner 
paid  my  respects  to  our  young  master  here,"  added  he, 
looking  from  the  smiling  mother  to  the  pretty  babe  with 
a  delighted  countenance.  "  For  never  saw  I,  in  all  my 
days,  a  child  whose  exquisite  comeliness  made  earliest 
acquaintance  so  desirable." 

"  Nay,  sweet  Sir,  it  is  your  goodness  that  maketh  you 
think  so,"  replied  she,  though  pleased  beyond  measure  at 
the  compliment. 

"  An  it  please  your  worship,  it  be  very  exquisite 
comeliness,  indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  nurse  with  some  em- 
phasis, as  she  held  out  the  child  to  be  seen  by  him  more 
conveniently.  "  In  all  honesty  I  say  it,  I  know  not  the 
babe  so  choicely  featured.  I  pray  you,  note  how  fair  a 
forehead  it  hath — the  hair,  no  silk  ever  was  of  such  mar- 
velous fineness — here  are  cheeks  that  bees  would  cluster 
at  taking  them  to  be  such  delicate  rarities  as  they  have 
had  no  experience  of — but  the  eyes.  I  pray  your  wor- 
ship, look  at  these  eyes  !  What  pretty  twinklers  they  be  ! 
So  mild,  so  soft,  so  loving,  °nd  so  roguish  withal  !  l'laitl), 
eyes  of  so  rare  a  sort  surely  no  child  ever  had  ;  and  as 
for  this  dainty  little  mouth — if  there  shall  be  found  any 
cherry  so  tempting  to  look  upon,  I  am  no    true  woman." 

"  O  rny  life,  he  is  wonderfully  pretty  !  "  cried  John  a 
Combe,  gazing  with  an  admiring  eye  upon  its  many  atr 
tractions. 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  33 

"  Dost  think  so,  really  ?"   asked  the  happy  mother. 

"  But  then,  it  hath  such  strange,  wise,  notable  ways 
with  it  as  exceed  all  my  cunning  to  describe,"  continued 
the  nurse,  jumping  her  charge  up  and  down  abit  as  nur- 
ses do.  "  And  for  a  curious  nature,  his  exceedeth  all 
comprehension.  There  shall  nothing  pass  in  his  pres- 
ence unnoticed  of  him  ;  and  if  anything  new  come  with- 
in his  reach,  doubt  not  he  will  have  hold  of  it  in  a  pres- 
ently ;  nay,  his  curiousness  is  of  so  extreme  a  sort,  that 
if  he  but  get  sight  of  a  thing,  he  will  allow  of  no  peace 
till  he  have  it  in  his  hand,  and  thereby  gain  some  knowl- 
edge what  stuff  it  be  made  of." 

"  Methinks,  nurse,  there  is  much  sign  of  after  wis- 
dom in  kbeing  so  early  a  learner,"  observed  John  a 
Combe. 

"  Ay,  an  it  please  your  worship,  that  is  there  I'll  war- 
rant you,"  replied  she.  Then  as  for  his  temper,  he  is  so 
sweetly  disposed,  none  can  help  loving  him.  He  is  none 
of  your  cross-grained,  restless,  ill-behaved  little  brats 
that  be  ever  a  squalling  and  bawling  from  morning  till 
night,  disturbing  of  every  one — not  he  by  my  halidom  ! 
for  he  is  so  peaceable,  you  might  live  in  the  house  and 
not  know  a  babe  was  in  it.  He  goeth  to  sleep  just  when 
it  is  proper  for  him,  and  wakes  himself  up  only  at  such 
times  as  may  be  most  convenient  for  him  to  be  looked  to. 
Tn  short,  I  will  be  bound  for't,  his  like  is  not  to  be  found 
in  this  world  ;'  and  if  he  come  not  to  be  a  bishop  or  at  least 
a  justice  o'  th?  peace,  I  shall  be  hugely  mistaken  in  him." 

u  O  my  word,  nurse,  you  have  mighty  hopes  of  him," 
exclaimed  Dame  Shakspeare,  gazing  fondly,  and  some- 
what proudly,  on  the  object  of  so  much  eulogy,  as  it  lay 
dandling  in  the  arms  of  her  attendant.  "  In  good  truth, 
I  cannot  expect  for  the  boy  any  such  famous  fortune, 
and  should  be  well  satisfied,  could  I  be  assured  he  would 
live  to  play  the  part  of  an  honest  man,  and  die  in  the 
estimation  of  his  fellows." 

"  If  such  be  your  desire,  believe  me  the  assurance  is 
easily  come  at,"   remarked  John    a  Combe,  courtco  us  ly 


34  THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

"  for  it  is  manifest  from  what  nurse  hath  said  of  him,  that 
he  possesses  his  mother's  excellent  rare  virtues,  and 
with  such  commendable  gifts  he  cannot  fail  to  realize  all 
honorable  expectations." 

"  I  am  proud  of  your  good  opinion,  worthy  Master 
Combe,"  answered  she,  with  the  unaffectedness  of  a 
truly  modest  woman.  "  It  shall  at  least  keep  me  at  my 
powerfulest  endeavors  to  deserve  it  better." 

"  As  some  small  token  of  my  regard,  I  beseech  you, 
accept  of  me  this  poor  trifle  for  your  sweet  son,"  said  he, 
as  he  produced  a  very  daintily  wrought  silver  cup  and 
cover. 

"  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  that  is  as  pretty  a  present 
for  a  babe  as  1  have  seen  this  many  a  day,"  exclaimed 
the  nurse  ;  and  then  addressing  the  infant,  as  she  let  him 
rise  and  fall  in  her  arms,  cried  out,  "  Hoity  toity,  my 
young  master  !  thou  hast  a  goodly  store  of  friends  me- 
thinks  !  But  thou  deservest  it  every  bit,  thou  dost,  thou 
pretty  rogue  !"  And  then  she  fell  to  tickling  of  him  with 
one  hand  upon  bis  chest,  whilst  she  Jield  him  by  the  oth- 
er, till  the  babe  laughed  after  so  delicate  a  fashion  as 
was  exquisite  to  see. 

"  I  feel  too  much  beholden  to  you,  worthy  Master 
Combe,  to  say  aught  of  the  matter/'  said  the  delighted 
mother. 

"  And  here,  nurse,"  he  added,  taking  out  of  his  purse 
a  piece  of  silver,  which  he  placed  in  her  hands,  "  is 
some  small  token  you  should  bestow  your  best  attentions 
on    this  my  young  friend  here." 

"That  will  I,  your  worship,  depend  on't,  and  a  mil- 
lion of  thanks  for  your  worship's  largess,''  exclaimed  the 
other,  dropping  a  curtsey,  as  she  accepted  the  coin. 
"  Well,  commend  me  to  Master  Combe,  for  a  true  gen- 
tleman !"  continued  she  as  he  had  retired  to  another  part 
of  the  chamber. 

"  He  is  ever  so,"  answered  her  mistress.  "  He  giv- 
eth  signs  of  a  most  liberal  heart,  and  is  at  all  times  a 
ready  mean  for  the  doing  of  any  good.     Perchance  one 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  35 

might  travel  many  miles,  and    not    meet  with  so   good    a 
neighbor,  so  tine  a  friend,  or  so  worthy  a  Christian."' 

"  Now,  neighbors  !  now,  friends  !  an  it  please  you  in 
to  dinner,"  cried  John  Shakspeare  ;  on  the  instant,  all 
were  in  preparation  to  obey  the  welcome  summons,  and 
John  a  Combe  hurrying  bad;  to  Dame  Shakspeare, 
gallantly  led  the  way  with  her,  followed  by  the  rest  of 
the  company,  till  he  had  placed  her  in  her  proper  seat, 
After  Sir  Nathaniel  had  said  grace,  the  company  sat 
down  to  a  dinner  that  would  have  gladdened  any  but  to 
have  beheld  ;  for  there  was  brought  upon  the  table  a  fa- 
mous store  of  all  things  in  season,  with  plenty  of  excel- 
lent liquor,  both  ale  and  cider:  and  all  set  to  with  good 
appetites,  aftd  with  an  evident  determination  to  enjoy  the 
cheer  that  had  been  provided  for  them.  Of  these,  none 
so  distinguished  himself  as  did  the  curate  and  the  school- 
master. Stripes  sat  nearly  bolt  upright  in  his  chair,  as 
serious  as  a  judge  and  as  ravenous  as  a  wolf;  yet  there 
was  not  so  glaring  an  im pudency  in  his  proceedings  as 
was  in  the  other,  for  he  was  not  importunate — he  waited 
to  be  asked — eat  what  was  given  him — was  ready 
again  ;  and  with  small  pressing,  continued  at  it  till  long 
after  all  else  had  done. 

The  host  and  hostess  seemed  ever  anxious  that  each 
person  should  have  what  he  liked,  and  plenty  of  it,  and 
kept  Maud  the  girl,  and  Humphrey  the  boy,  at  their  vig- 
ilance, supplying  of  what  was  needed,  whilst  John  a 
Combe  busied  himself  in  pressing  those  nighest  him  to 
make  good  cheer,  and  looked  as  if  he  cared  not  what  he 
had  himself  as  long  as  the  rest  fared  well.  Of  a  surety 
every  one  appeared  to  enjoy  himself  to  his  heart's  content, 
nor  were  the  women  altogether  unmindful  of  the  bounti- 
ful hospitality  that  had  garnished  the  board  :  for  they 
eat  and  praised,  and  smiled  in  such  a  sort  as  showed  how 
well  they  were  pleased  with  their  entertainment. 

At  last  the  meal  was  over,  the  dishes  removed,  and  in    • 
their  stead  the  tables  were  covered  with  a  plentiful  vari- 
ety of  cakes,  such  fruit  as  could  be  got,  Marchpane,  ap- 


36 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE, 


pies  and  comfits,  stewed  prunes  and  dishes  of  other  pre- 
serves, syllabubs  for  the  younger  folks  made  of  new  milk 
and  verjuice,  and  wine  for  the  elders  of  two  or  three  sev- 
eral kinds  ;  besides  which,  John  Shakspeare  was  brew- 
ing a  goodly  bowl  of  sack  with  sugar  in  it,  for  such  as 
affected  such  delicate  drink,  of  whom  the  two  aldermen 
were  most  conspicuous,  swearing  there  was  no  such  liquor 
in  the  world,  whilst  his  excellent  sweet  wife  opposite  was 
preparing  a  jug  of  spiced  ale,  such  liquor  being  desired, 
above  all  others,  by  sifch  of  her  guests  as  were  farmers 
or  yeomen  ;  ever  and  anon  saying  something  to  the 
nurse,  who  was  standing  behind  her  chair  with  the  babe 
in  her  arms  ;  or  acknowledging,  with  some  few  gracious 
words,  the  courtesies  of  John  a  Combe,  who%at  nigh  her, 
and  by  his  own  readiness  took  heed  that  she  should  have 
everything  she  needed  ready  at  her  hand.  The  jingling 
of  glasses,  and  the  like  noises,  caused  by  the  moving  of 
bottles,  and  other  drinking  vessels,  having  in  some  degree 
subsided,  and  all  having  before  them  what  they  most  de- 
sired, it  was  observed  that  John  a  Combe  stood  up  with 
his  glass  filled  in  his  hand  ;  and,  with  some  ado,  the  rude 
prating  of  Sir  Nathaniel  being  stopped,  he  was  heard  to 
speak  after  this  fashion  : 

"  My  worthy  good  neighbors  and  friends  !  There  is  a 
custom,  now  of  old  standing  in  this  our  very  dear  coun- 
try, which  methinks  should  be  held  in  good  esteem  of 
all  true  English  hearts  ;  to  wit,  the  drinking  of  Tiealths, 
which,  I  take  it,  is  a  great  encourager  of  honest  love  ; 
and  keepeth  true  friendship  in  excellent  remembrance 
among  all  men.  Now  it  may  be  known  unto  you,  that 
this  same  estimable  custom  is  in  most  request  amongst 
those  of  old  acquaintance.  Therefore  I  beseech  you 
pardon  me,  if  on  this  occasion  I  require  of  you  to  follow 
the  custom  with  some  alteration.  There  is  no  old  famil- 
iar friend  I  would  now  ask  your  remembrance  of;  but 
one  whose  very  name  hath  been  unknown  to  you  till  this 
day.  I  cannot  point  out  to  you  what  noticeable  virtues 
he  hath  shown,  worthy  of  your  commendation  ;    for  as 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  37 

yet  I  have  been  so  little  in  his  company,  he  hath  not  had 
time  to  show  his  goodness  to  me  ;  but  knowing  his  fa- 
ther's extreme  honesty  of  soul,  and  his  mother's  manifold 
excellencies  of  nature,  I  am  assured  he  cannot  fail  to 
have  in  him  such  bountiful  gifts,  as  in  good  time  must 
bring  to  him  all  good  men's  affections.  Neighbors  !  I 
pray  you,  with  full  cups,  join  with  me  very  heartily  in 
drinking  —  health  to  our  young  friend,  William  Shak- 
speare,  a  long  life  and  a  prosperous  !  " 

Me  thinks  there  should  be  no  need  to  assure  the  read- 
er, that  the  desire  of  John  a  Combe  was  followed  on  the 
instant  with  the  sincere  good  will  of  all  present. 

"  Well  done,  John  a  Combe  !  "  shouted  Sir  Nathan- 
iel ;  "  O'  my*life,  a  truly  excellent  proper  speech  ;  and 
very  scholarly  spoken.  What  sayest  Ticklebreech  ?  " 
cried  he  familiarly  to  the  schoolmaster,  who  sat  over 
against  him.  u  Is  not  the  speech  a  sound  speech,  ay, 
and  a  notable  speech,  ay,  and  a  speech  of  marvelous 
discretion  ?  " 

"  An'  it  please  your  reverence,"  replied  Stripes,  look- 
ing all  the  whilst  as  solemn  as  if  it  was  a  matter  of  life 
or  death  with  him  ;  "  touching  the  speech  that  hath  late- 
ly had  utterance  amongst  us,  I  will  make  so  bold  as  to 
say,  that  a  properer  speech  shall  not  be  found,  even 
should  you  seek  for  it  in  the  choicest  of  Demosthenes  his 
Philippics,  or  of  Cicero  his  Orations.  It  is  a  speech 
that  hath  in  it  these  several  excellencies  ;  excellence  of 
matter,  excellence  of  rhetoric,  and  excellence  of"  — 

'"  it  may  be  known  of  all  here  I  am  no  scholar,  like 
unto  our  good  friend  and  neighbor  Master  Combe,"  ob- 
served John  Shakspeare,  with  his  honest  cheerful  face 
all  of  a  glow,  and  to  the  complete  cutting  short  of  the 
schoolmaster  in  what  threatened  to  be  an  exceeding  prosy- 
discourse.  "  Yet  had  I  what  I  lack  the  most,  I  doubt  it 
would  do  me  such  good  office  as  sufficiently  to  assure 
him  of  the  full  great  love  I  bear  him  in  my  heart  for  the 
friendliness  he  hath  shown  to  me  and  mine  on  this  and 
other  occasions.  Fain  would  I  dilate  concerning  of  what 

VOL.    I.  4 


38  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEAEE. 

numberless  famous  proofs  he  hath  exhibited  of  the  gen- 
erousness  of  his  humor,  but  that  I  know  none  of  you 
stand  in  any  ignorance  of  them.  From  his  earliest  life 
he  hath  been  given  to  all  manner  of  truly  estimable  vir- 
tues ;  and  now  his  riper  manhood,  in  its  thorough  hones- 
ty and  free-heartedncss,  declare! h  what  proper  effect 
hath  come  of  the  exceeding  virtuousness  of  his  youth. 
I  feel  proud  that  Stratford  can  boast  of  such  a  one  ;  and 
I  pray  you  pardon  me,  when  I  add,  my  pride  is  none  the 
less  at  finding  that  such  a  one  should  hold  me  in  his 
commendation  ;  for,  as  I  take  it,  to  be  well  spoken  of  is 
ever  to  be  desired  ;  but  the  praise  of  the  praiseworthy  is 
a  thing  beyond  all  price.  In  testimony  that  your  opin- 
ion accordeth  with  mine  own,  I  beseech  you  neighbors, 
join  with  me  in  drinking  to  the  health  of  our  worthy 
townsman,  John  a  Combe,  desiring  that  he  may  long  con- 
tinue to  live  amongst  us,  in  the  same  pride  and  honor  as 
he  doth  at  this  present." 

"  Marry,  but  this  lookcttv  to  be  the  properest  speech 
of  the  two  !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Nathaniel,  as  all  prepared 
themselves,  and  with  evidence  of  great  good  will,  to  do 
as  their  host  would  have  them;  "  What  sayest,  Peda- 
gogus  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  and  as  your  reverence  out  of  your  singular 
wisdom  hath  observed,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  refraining 
awhile  from  the  pippin  he  was  a  moment  since  intent 
upon  adding  to  the  great  mass  of  victual  that  had  gone 
before  it,  "  It  be  out  of  all  comparison  the  properest 
speech.  In  short,  it  shall  be  found,  on  the  very  search- 
ingest  examination,  of  so  proper  a  sort,  that  its  fellow  i 
shall  not  be  met  with,  seek  where  you  will." 

Much  more  of  the  same  poor  stuff  he  might  have  add- 
ed, had  not  the  voice  of  John  a  Combe  sent  him,  noth- 
ing loath,  to  the  munching  of  his  pippin  ;  for  he  was  of 
that  well-disposedness,  he  would  hold  his  prate  when  his 
betters  were  talking  ;  but  among  poorer  folk  he  would 
say  out  his  say,  were  it  a  mile  to  the  end  ;  and  heed 
none,  should  they  talk   ever  so.     Master  Combe,  there- 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  39 

upon,  quickly  disclaimed  any  title  to  praise  for  whatever 
he  had  done  ;  asserting  that  it  was  what  every  man 
should  do,  regardless  of  all  else  but  the  good  that  came 
of  it.  This  brought  others  to  speak,  especially  the  al- 
dermen and  burgesses  of  his  particular  acquaintance,  who 
in  homely  fashion  gave  their  evidence  of  his  worthiness. 
In  fact,  every  one  appeared  anxious  to  say  in  what  great 
estimation  he  was  held  of  them,  only  with  one  solitary 
exception.  Of  the  company  was  one  Master  Buzzard, 
a  gentleman  of  those  parts,  who,  for  all  he  was  of  bet- 
ter estate  than  any  there,  was  an  ignorant  vain  person, 
living  in  great  dissoluteness,  with  such  companions  as  the 
priest  and  the  schoolmaster,  and  other  roysterers  ;  and 
cared  for  nothing  so  much  as  hawking  and  spending  his 
time  in  riotous  ill-living  among  such  as  were  ready  to  fall 
into  his  humor.  He  was  of  a  middle  size  with  strong 
body  and  full  look,  and  affected  ?o  mislike  anything 
like  niceness  in  apparel.  Indeed,  his  manners  were  of 
the  rudest,  but  being  an  excellent  customer  of  John 
Shakspeare,  he  got  invited  to  the  christening.  At  hear- 
ing the  praises  that  were  so  bountifully  lavished  upon 
John  a  Combe,  his  soul  was  stirred  with  a  very  devilish 
envy  ;  and  though  he  said  nought,  save  'twas  to  mutter 
some  contemptuous  expression,  unheard  of  any  but  thoso 
nighest  him,  it  was  easy  to  be  seen,  that  he  was  in  a 
wonderful  ill  humor. 

At  this  lime  a  many  of  the  company  were  amusing 
themselves  at  the  game  of  Barley  Break,  in  the  ware- 
house and  places  where  the  wool  was  stored,  and  other 
things  in  which  John  Shakspeare  dealt  ;  and  it  did  so 
happen  that  Master  Alderman  Dowlas,  the  draper,  was 
shut  up  in  the  middle  room  with  the  buxom  wife  of  his 
neighbor,  Master  Alderman  Malmsey,  the  vintner,  and 
he  must  needs  be  making  love  to  her,  though  he  had  as 
exquisite  fair  a  wife  of  his  own  as  any  honest  man  need 
desire.  Now  this  worthless  draper  was  a  man  of  no 
particular  likelihood  to  fall  in  with  a  pretty  woman's  fan- 
tasy, having  features  by  no  means  comely  ;  a  long  thin 


40  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.. 

nose,  and  a  mouth  about  as  expressive  of  any  particular 
affectionateness  as  a  roll  of  broadcloth.  Indeed,  there 
was  a  sort  of  sanctimoniousness  in  the  cut  of  his  beard, 
and  the  cropping  of  his  hair,  and  the  sober  suit  of  grey 
in  which  he  was  usually  appareled,  that  seemed  to  give 
the  flattest  contradiction  to  love  of  any  sort,  unless  it 
were  the  love  of  godliness  and  a  decent  life.  Whether 
what  he  had  been  drinking  put  into  his  head  any  such 
villainy,  or  that  he  was  of  a  very  amorously  disposed  na- 
ture at  all  times,  I  know  not  ;  but  certain  it  is,  he  left 
the  table  to  play  at  Barley  Break  ;  of  an  equal  surety  is 
it,  he  was,  in  the  course  of  the  game,  shut  up  in  the 
middle  room  with  the  young  comely  wife  of  his  brother 
alderman  ;  and  it  is  beyond  all  contradiction  that,  after 
flattering  "the  very  infiniteness  of  her  most  absolute  and 
inconceivable  beauty,"  as  he  was  pleased  to  style  her 
somewhat  attractiveness,  in  a  sufficiency  that  ought  to 
have  satisfied  the  vainest  woman  that  ever  lived,  he,  in  a 
monstrous  earnestness,  swore  he  loved  her  better  than 
ought  else  in  the  universal  world. 

"  Fie  on  you,  Jonathan  Dowlas  !  "  cried  the  pretty 
woman,  evidently,  from  the  twinkling  of  her  merry  dark 
eyes,  taking  the  affair  as  an  excellent  good  jest.  "  I 
marvel  you  should  so  conduct  yourself  to  your  friend's 
wife,  and  you  a  godly  man  too.,  that  hath  been  married 
this  seven  year  !  —  as  I  live,  methinks  it  is  too  bad  of 
you." 

<(  Alack,  adorable  sweet  creature  !  "  cried  the  Alder- 
man, twiching  his  chair  as  nigh  as  possible  to  hers,  the 
which  she  marked  by  immediately  increasing  the  dis- 
tance between  them.  "  'Tis  all  on  account  of  the  insuf- 
ficiency of  the  flesh.  The  flesh  rebelled)  against  all 
discretion.  It  stirreth,  as  it  were,  yea,  it  be  exceedingly 
moved." 

"  I  would  it  would  move  farther  off,  then,"  exclaimed 
his  fair  companion,  as  she  removed  herself  a  short  dis- 
tance, upon  finding  him  again  attempting  to  get  closer  to 
ber  than  she  liked, 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SH  A.KSPE  ARE. 

"  Sweet  INIistress  Malmsey,"  continued  the  draper, 
very  pathetically,  "  as  the  hart  panteth  for  the  water 
brooks,  doth  my  enamored  soul  thirst  after  thine  incom- 
parable sweet  perfections." 

"Then  you  must  quench  your  thirst  at  other  fountains, 
I  promise  you,"  pithily  replied  the  vintner's  wife.  "My 
husband  bath  a  famous  store  of  wines.  I  doubt  not,  if 
you  would  give  him  an  order  for  some,  a  draught  or  so 
occasionally  would  do  you,  out  of  all  comparison,  more 
benefit  than  would  the  draining  of  my  incomparable 
sweet  perfections  to  the  dregs  ;  for.  take  my  word  for't, 
)ou  would  find  me  horrible  bad  drinking." 

u  Nay,  that  could  never  be,  my  honey-sweet!"  ex- 
claimed the  Alderman,  trying  to  take  her  hand,  which 
she  presently  snatched  away  from  him.  "  Sooner  shall 
princes  wear  buckram,  and  penniless  rogues  ruffle  it  in 
costliest  cloth  of  gold.  Believe  me,  as  I  love  ready 
money  better  than  credit,  and  large  profits  before  any 
loss.  I  shall  grow  into  a  desperation,  succeed  I  not  in  my 
suit." 

"  Your  suit  is  like  to  go  unshod,  for  it  is  bootless,*' 
answered  Mistress  Malmsey,  with  a  pretty  laugh  at  her 
own  jest  ;  ihen  added,  more  seriously,  "  Marry,  to  pre- 
vent such  a  mischance  as  your  falling  into  desperation,  I 
would  acquaint  your  wife  with  your  desires,  and  doubt 
not  at  all  she'd  suit  you  in  a  presently." 

The  Alderman  looked  as  if  he  relished  not  this  raille- 
ry. He  spoke  never  a  word  for  a  minute  or  so.  What 
more  he  might  have  said,  I  know  not  ;  for  soon  after,  by 
the  chances  of  the  game,  they  were  released  from  their 
imprisonment,  and  she  allowed  him  no  more  opportunity 
of  having  any  such  conversation  with  her  that  day.  In 
the  meanwhile,  they  at  the  table  were  still  jovially  em- 
ployed in  making  good  cheer.  John  a  Combe  was  in- 
tent upon  setting  off  every  one  to  enjoy  themselves  after 
such  fashion  as  pleased  them  most,  and  seeing  that  all 
had  proper  refreshment  when  their  sports  had  tired  them 
in  any   way.      John  Shakspeare  was  employed  in  a  like 

vol.   i.  4* 


42  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE* 

manner,  and  so  was  his  good  dame  ;  whereof,  the  conse- 
quence was,  as  hath  heen  acknowledged  many  times  since, 
that  there  never  was  known,  at  any  merry-making,  such 
a  general  contentation  of  the  guests  ;  and  he  who  was  the 
cause  of  this  great  content,  lacked  no  honor  which  the 
occasion  seemed  to  warrant.  He  was  praised  as  bounti- 
fully as  if  each  had  taken  a  cue  from  the  nurse — all  the 
women  must  needs  have  a  kiss  of  him  ;  and  divers 
among  those  nigh  unto  marriageable  estate,  would  not 
be  satisfied  without  dandling  him  a  hit  in  their  arms — 
mayhap  to  show  certain  of  the  young  men  there,  how  apt 
they  were  at  so  notable  an  exercise.  At  last,  having 
been  carressed'  and  praised  of  all,  with  a  liberality  that 
exceedeth  conception,  amid  much  regret  of  the  young 
folks,  nurse  took  him  away — as,  in  sooth,  it  was  high 
time  he  should  be  asleep  in  his  cradle. 

Master  Buzzard  continued  at  the  table  eyeing,  with  a 
marvelous  sour  and  gloomy  aspect,  the  attentions  that 
were  paid  to  John  a  Combe  ;  and  it  fretted  him  to  find 
that  he,  for  all  his  greater  state,  was  held  in  no  such  es- 
timation. Along  with  him,  were  Sir  Nathaniel,  Stripes, 
and  Oliver  Dumps  ;  and  sometimes  others  would  join 
them  for  a  time,  upon  getting  weary  of  their  sports  ;  but 
these  four  appeared  to  like  nothing  so  well  as  continual 
tippling  of  such  liquors  as  were  before  them,  seasoned 
with  such  talk  as  persons  so  disposed,  were  most  like  to 
affect. 

"  It  may  be,  or  it  may  not  be,"  observed  Sir  Nathan- 
iel, after  rehearsing  to  his  listeners  a  scandalous  story  ; 
"  but  here  is  a  child  found,  and  as  far  as  my  learning 
may  go,  1  know  of  no  child  having  heen  born  without 
the  help  of  a  mother.     What  sayest,  Sir  Conjuror  ?  " 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it,  please  your  reverence," 
replied  the  schoolmaster.  "  Though  it  hath  been  assert- 
ed, by  divers  creditable  historians,  that  Venus  sprung 
from  the  foam  of  the  sea,  and  Minerva  from  the  brain  of 
Jove  ;  for  mine  own  part,  I  would  maintain,  yet  with  all 
due  deference,  the  utter  impossibility  of  any  one   person 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  43 

coming  into  this  world  without  having  to  boast  of  a 
mother,  and  perchance,  if  there  should  be  no  doubt  on't, 
of  a  father  also." 

"Thou  art  a  fool  old  hocus  pocus,  and  no  conjuror  !  " 
exclaimed  the  curate,  sharply,  "a  very  fool,  and  as  ig- 
norant as  a  heathen.  Had  Adam  a  mother,  or  Eve  ? 
Surely  thou  hast  forgotten  thy  Testament — thou  Ba- 
laam's ass  !  But  thou  never  wert  half  so  wise  an  ani- 
mal as  he  ;  for  it  be  well  known  of  all  men,  that  once 
upon  a  time,  when  he  was  carrying  off  Potiphar's  wife 
into  Egypt,  he  spake  unto  Moses,  saying,  c  Paul !  Paul  ! 
thou  almost  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian.'  ' 

"  Methinks  asses  must  have  been  wiser  in  those  days 
than  they  be  now,"  said  the  constable,  gravely.  "  My 
father  hath  had  an  ass  of  his  own  a  long  time  past,  but 
it  never  gave  any  sign  of  speech." 

"  It  hath  begun  at  last,  then  ecce  signum  ;  "  cried  Sir- 
Nathaniel,  laughing  famously,  in  which  he  was  joined 
by  his  companions.  "  But  touching  this  child.  It  doth 
appear  that  Dame  Lucy  made  discovery  of  a  young 
child  that  had  been  abandoned,  as  it  was  said  ;  and  as  it 
could  not  have  been  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's,  it  could  not, 
with  any  toleration,  be  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  wife's.  That 
child  the  good  dame  bad  me  christen,  some  short  time 
since,  by  the  name  of  Mabel  ;  and  she  hath  resolved,  a-; 
she  told  me,  to  bring  it  up  as  her  own  ;  the  which  she 
must  needs  do  with  the  perfectest  likeness  that  ever  was, 
for  many  do  say  she  hath  other  right  to  it  than  that  of 
first  discoverer." 

M  By  God's  body,  it  be  infamous !  "  cried  Master  Buz- 
zard, in  a  rude  loud  voice  that  attracted  the  attention  of 
all  within  reach  of  it.  "  The  vileness  of  these  women 
hath  no  rivalry  save  the  craft  with  which  they  hide  it. 
They  are  traitors  to  honesty,  all  of  them  ;  and  I  would 
as  soon  believe  in  the  trustworthiness  of  a  cut-purse,  as 
I  would  in  the  virtuousness  of  any  one  of  them." 

"  An'  it  please  you,  Master  Buzzard,  the  Queen's 
Highness,  whose  unworthy  constable  1  am,  is   a   woman, 


44  THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAK.SPEARE. 

as  I  have  heard,"  here  remarked  Oliver  Dumps,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  cometh  to  the  resolution  of  doing  his 
duty  though  it  be  unpleasant  to  him.  "  And  though  no 
later  than  yesterday  I  did  put  in  the  stocks,  for  wanton- 
ness, one  Marian  Loosefisb,  a  woman  also,  as  in  my  con- 
science I  do  firmly  believe  ;  yet  as  it  seemeth  to  me  it 
be  like  to  bring  her  Majesty's  name  into  contempt  among 
all  her  loving  subjects — the  which  be  against  the  law — 
to  say  that  women  be  given  to  all  manner  of  villainy,  and 
to  assert,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  Queen's  Highness  is 
a  woman,  I  must  maintain  it  by  virtue  of  my  office, 
that  if  all  women  may  be  queans,  then  is  the  queen  no 
woman.'5 

"  Pooh  !"  exclaimed  Master  Buzzard. 

"  But  I  will  not  have  it  '  pooh,'  "  cried  the  constable, 
raising  his  voice,  and  seeming  in  some  indignation.  "  It 
be  flat  contumaciousness,  and  very  sedition.  I  will  allow 
of  it  on  no  account  ;  and  I  charge  you,  on  your  allegi- 
ance declare  the  Queen's  Highness  no  woman,  or  any 
such  vileness,  else  will  I  straight  with  you  to  the  cage." 

"  What,  wouldst  put  a  gentleman  in  the  cage  ?"  cried 
Sir  Nathaniel,  as  if  k\  somesurprise.  "  Hath  no  respect 
for  persons  ?" 

"  No,  nor  for  parsons  either,  should  they  conduct 
themselves  unadvisedly,"  answered  the  little  man  deter- 
minedly. "I  am  put  in  authority  for  the  preservation  of 
the  peace,  and  it  behoovelh  me  to  keep  good  heed  there 
be  no  idle  prating  like  to  lead  to  a  brawl." 

"  The  map's  an  ass,"  said  Master  Buzzard,  in  very 
evident  contempt. 

"  The  man  is  no  ass,  Master  Buzzard,"  exclaimed 
Oliver  Dumps,  jumping  up  on  his  legs  in  a  sort  of  fury. 
"  And  moreover,  as  can  be  proved  at  any  time,  the  man 
never  was  an  ass,  but  an  honest  householder,  and  the 
queen's  officer  ;  and  one  who  careth  only  to  do  whatso- 
ever may  be  required  of  him  without  offence  to  any  man 
and  seeketh  to  live  as  becometh  a  proper  subject  of  her 
highness  and  a  good  Christian.     You  have  miscalled  me 


T.HE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  15 

villainously,  Master  Buzzard — I  will  not  put  up  with 
any  such  ill  usage  from  the  finest  fellow  that  wears  a 
head.  I  will  have  you  up  at  our  next  hall — you  shall  be 
brought  before  his  worship  the  high  bailiff.  I  will  have 
my  action  of  slander  against  you,  depend  on't." 

"  Hullo,  my  masters  !  what  hath  caused  this  unseemly 
to  do  amongst  you  r"  called  out  John  a  Combe,  as, 
drawn  by  the  constable's  loud  voice,  and  violent  manner, 
he,  with  others,  was  attracted  to  the  table.  "  I  marvel. 
ou  such  an  occasion  as  this,  to  see  any  quarrelling.  1 
pray  you,  say  the  matter  of  difference  betwixt  you,  that 
I  may  do  my  best,  as  speedy  as  may  be,  to  bring  it  to  an 
amicable  ending. " 

"Marry,  this  is  it.''  replied  Oliver,  in  no  way  abating 
the  greatness  of  his  indignation,  whilst  Master  Buzzard 
sat  with  a  perfect  indifferency,  mingled  with  some  scorn 
of  the  whole  business,  rocking  himself  on  his  chair. 
"Master  Buzzard  hath  given  me  ill  words,  and  I  will 
have  the  law  of  him  ;  moreover,  be  bath  spoken  shame- 
fully of  the  queen's  grace,  for  the  which  he  shall  have  to 
make  proper  amends  ;  and,  lastly,  be  bath  insinuated  evil 
opinions  of  my  lady,  the  wife  of  bis  worship  Sir  Thom- 
as Lucy,  in  particular,  and  of  all  women  in  general,  say- 
ing that  they  be  notoriously  dishonest,  and  ever  given  to 
unlawful  behavior." 

"  What  he  hath  spoken  ill  of  you,  worthy  Master  Con- 
stable, be  sure  he  said  in  jest,"  remarked  John  a  Combe. 
"  And  I  cannot  believe  you  to  be  so  un neighborly  as  to 
allow  of  such  a  thing  moving  you." 

"  Nay,  but  he  hath  called  mean  ass,  Master  Combe, 
and  there  be  no  jest  in  that  as  I  can  see,"  cried  out  the 
offended  constable. 

"  He  meant  it  as  a  jest  depend  on't,"  replied  the 
other. 

"Ay,  'twas  a  jest  out  of  all  doubt,"  here  observed  Sir 
Nathaniel,  just  after  draining  bis  goblet.  "Didst  not 
take  it  for  a  jest,  Ticklebrcech  ?"  added  he,  turning  to 
his  companion. 


46  THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

"  O'  my  life  yes,  an'  it  please  your  reverence,"  an- 
swered the  schoolmaster;  "as  excellent  good  jest  as 
ever  I  heard." 

"  Well,  an'  it  be  a  jest,  indeed,"  said  Oliver  Dumps, 
in  a  quieter  tone  ;  "  believe  me  I  was  ignoraut  of  it,  else 
would  I  have  said  nought  of  the  matter,  for  I  am  not  so 
crabbed  as  to  take  offence  where  none  be  intended  ;  but 
what  saith  he  concerning  of  his  ill  speech  of  the  queen  ? 
that  was  no  jest,  at  least  he  will  find  it   none,  I  warrant 

you." 

"  You  must  have  misunderstood  his  meaning  surely  ?" 
observed  John  a  Combe.  "  'Tis  not  at  all  in  reason  that 
one  known  to  be  so  well  disposed  towards  her  Majesty  as 
is  Master  Buzzard,  should  say  so  much  as  one  single  word 
to  her  prejudice.'' 

"  If  he  said  not  all  women  be  mere  wantons,  count  me 
the  lyingest  knave  in  Christendom, "  asserted  the  consta- 
ble with  some  vehemence. 

"  Perchance  he  may  have  said  it,  but  that  he  had  any 
such  meaning  will  I  never  believe,"  remarked  Master 
Combe. 

"  I  will  wager  my  life  on  it  he  had  a  very  different 
meaning,"  exclaimed  the  curate.  Then  called  he  to  his 
sworn-fellow,  "  What  sayest,  Lanthornjaws  ?" 

"  Please  your  reverence,  I  will  vouch  for  it,  his  mean- 
ing must  needs  have  been  of  a  clean  contrary  sort,"  read- 
ily answered  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Many  then,  since  that  be  the  opinion  of  these  hon- 
est gentlemen,  I  will  not  stir  in  the  matter  further,"  said 
Oliver.  "  I  would  torture  no  man's  speech  to  do  him 
hurt,  not  I,  even  though  I  might  be  made  alderman  to- 
morrow for't.  But  touching  my  lady,  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy's  wife,  I  heard  of  a  child  she  had  found  and  bring- 
eth  up  as  her  own,  of  the  which  if  I  remember  me,  Mas- 
ter Buzzard  believeth  the  good  lady  to  be  the  mother, 
without  consent  first  had  and  obtained  of  his  worship, 
her  husband  ;  and  this  I  take  it,  can  be  no  other  than 
scandalum  magnatum — a  terrible  heinous  offence  as  I 
have  heard." 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


47 


"  I  cannot  believe  Master  Buzzard  would  speak  of 
such  a  matter,  save  as  the  common  talk  of  the  vulgar 
sort,  who  know  no  better,"  said  John  a  Combe.  "For 
mine  own  part,  there  is  nothing  of  which  1  am  so  well 
assured  as  of  the  wonderful  excellence  of  woman.  All 
that  extreme  force  of  rhetoric  could  speak,  or  most  fa- 
mous cunning  of  the  pen  could  describe,  in  my  humble 
opinion  could  never  give  her  such  sufficient  justice  as 
her  infinite  merits  deserve.  Whatever  there  is  of  good- 
ness— whatever  there  is  of  kindness,  of  pitifulness  of 
heart,  and  of  nobleness  of  disposition,  have  their  chief- 
est  place  in  her,  and  she  is  the  origin  of  that  marvelous 
sweet  power  that  gives  humanity  its  rarest  excellence, 
and  binds  all  nature  in  one  unending  chain  that  never 
rusts,  that  will  not  clog,  and  that  cannot  be  sundered — 
the  links  whereof  are  those  endearing  sympathies  that 
join  to  form  the  universal  bondage  of  the  affections. 
Such  bountiful  store  of  graces  doth  she  possess,  that 
although  poets  from  earliest  time  have  been  endeavoring 
to  make  them  known  to  the  world,  in  our  own  day  such 
attractions  as  have  escaped  notice,  are  found  to  be  out  of 
all  number;  and  it  hath  been  well  asserted,  the  same  is 
like  to  continue  to  latest  posterity.  Melhinks  there  shall 
be  no  need  of  saying  ought  to  show  what  great  share  she 
hath  in  the  production  of  everything  that  tendeth  to  hap- 
piness in  this  world,  for  you  cannot  help  knowing  that  all 
true  pleasure  is  of  her  giving.  Of  her  excellence  I 
would  content  myself  with  asking — What  virtue  is  like 
to  a  woman's  ? — What  honesty  is  like  to  a  woman's  ?  — 
What  love,  what  courage,  what  truth,  what  generous- 
ness,  what  self-denial,  what  patience  under  affliction,  and 
forgiveness  for  wrong  come  at  all  nigh  unto  such  as  a 
woman  showeth  ?  Believe  me  the  man  who  cannot  hon- 
or so  truly  divine  a  creature,  is  an  ignorant  poor  fel- 
low, whom  it  would  be  a  compliment  to  style  a  fool  ;  or 
an  ungrateful  mean  wretch,  whom  charity  preventeth 
me  from  calling  a  villain." 

"  Thou  liest,  knave  !"  shouted  Master  Buzzard,  start- 
ing to  his  feet,  and  drawing  his  rapier,  and  looking  to  be 


48  THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

in  a  monstrous  deadly  rage.  "Thou  art  thyself  but  a 
paltry  villain  as  ever  lived,  and  a  coward  to  boot,  as  f 
will  presently  prove — so  come  on,  or  I  will  make  no 
more  account  of  thy  pestilent  body  than  I  would  of  a 
stinking  mackerel." 

"  Aid  in  the  Queen's  name,  you  that  be  good  men 
and  true  !"  exclaimed  the  constable,  amidst  the  shrieks 
of  the  women  and  the  outcries  of  the  men,  as  he  bustled 
up  between  the  expected  combatants. 

"  Put  down  your  weapon,  Master  Buzzard,  I  pray 
.you,"  cried  John  Shakspeare,  hastening  with  others  to 
the  scene. 

"  I  will  cut  off  thy  ears  as  a  supper  for  my  dogs  !  " 
continued  Master  Buzzard,  seeming  to  increase  in  his 
(passion. 

"  A  riot  !  a  riot  !  Surrender  you  my  prisoner  in  the 
Queen's  name  !  "  added  Oliver  Dumps,  advancing  close 
to  the  offender,  as  II  with  the  intention  of  seizing  him. 

'"'Out,  fool,  or  I  will  pin  thee  to  the  wall  !  "  shouted 
Master  Buzzard,  making  a  pass  at  the  constable,  the 
which  to  avoid  he  made  a  leap  of  so  prodigious  a  leng'th, 
it  hath  been  s  kid  he  never  did  such  a  feat  before  or  since. 
"Oh,  here  will  be  a  foul  murder  done  !  "  exclaimed 
Dame  Shakspeare,  pitiously  wringing  of  her  hands. 

"  Come  on,  fellow,  and  take  thy  death  !  "  cried  Mas- 
ter Buzzard,  going  furiously  at  John  a  Combe,  who  had 
got  his  weapon  out  in  readiness  to  defend  himself,  but 
ere  his  oponent  reached  within  thrusting  distance,  John 
Shakspeare  had  fast  hold  of  his  arm,  and  others  springing 
on  him  at  the  same  moment,  he  was  soon  deprived  of  all 
means  of  offence. 

"  I  marvel  a  person  of  your  quality  should  be  for  a 
quarrel  at  such  a  tiuis  as  this,"  observed  his   host; 

"  Is't  fitting  such  a  pitiful  coxcomb  of  a  fellow  should 
preach  to  me,"  cried  the  other  very  furiously,  striving  to 
break  from  those  who  held  him. 

"  Hold  him  fast,  good  neighbors,"  exclaimed  Oliver 
Dumps,  now  coming  nearer,  seeing  that  his  prisoner  was 


THE    YOUTH    OP    SHAKSPEARE.  49 

disarmed.  "  Let  him  go  on  no  account,  I  pray  you. 
He  hath  sought  to  do  me  deadly  injury  in  the  execution 
of  my  office,  and  it  cannot  but  go  hard  with  him  at 
assize. " 

"  I  beseech  you,  pass  it  over  !  "  said  John  a  Combe. 
"  It  was  but  some  sudden  heat  of  temper  in  him,  and  I 
doubt  not  he  will  regret  it  in  the  morning." 

"  Away,  coward  ;  I  spit  at  thee  !  "  shouted  Master 
Buzzard,  in  a  fiercer  rage  than  ever,  as  he  was  being 
borne  out  at  the  door.  "  I  do  long  to  be  at  thee.  I 
would  make  more  holes  in  thy  body  than  shall  be  found 
in  a  sieve." 

"  Bring  him  along,  neighbors,"  cried  the  constable. 
"  We'll  spoil  this  killing  humor  of  his,  I  promise  you." 

Master  Buzzard  was  forcibly  carried  out  of  the  house, 
yet  without  any  rudeness  on  the  part  of  his  bearers,  who, 
because  of  his  quality,  were  loth  he  should  be  punished 
for  his  brawling  ;  and,  after  much  opposition  from  Oliver 
Dumps  wanting  to  be  thought  the  Queen's  trusty  officer, 
who  liked  not  of  an  offence  being  hushed  up,  it  was 
agreed,  that  no  notice  should  be  taken  of  it,  on  condition 
of  the  offender's  going  peaceably  home.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  guests  recovering  from  their  alarm,  got  to  danc- 
ing a  measure,  and  other  diversions,  as  if  nought  had 
happened  to  disturb  their  sports,  and  went  not  away  till 
late,  vowing  that  of  all  the  merry  meetings  they  had 
been  at,  for  the  pleasure  they  had  had,  none  had  been 
like  to  the  christening  of  William  Shakspeare. 


VOL.    I. 


50  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


CHAPTER  ill. 

These  things  begin 
To  look  like  dangers,  now,  worthy  my  fates. 
Fortune,  I  see  thy  worst;  let  doubtful  states, 
And  things  uncertain  hang  upon  thy  will; 
Me  surest  death  shall  render  certain  still. 

Ben  Jonson. 

I  held  it  ever 
Virtue  and  cunning. were  endowments  greater 
Than  nobleness  and  riches  ;  careless  heirs 
May  the  two  latter  darken  and  expend  ; 
But  immortality  attends  the  former, 
Making  a  man  a  god. 

Shakspeare. 

Their  angry  looks,  their  deadly  daunting  blows, 
Might  witness  well  that  in  their  hearts  remained 
As  cankered  hate,  disdain,  and  furious  mood, 
As  ever  bred  in  bear  or  tiger's  breast. 

Gascoyse. 

11  Saul,  what  art  doing  ?  " 

"  Looking  to  see  that  the  gesses  and  bells  of  this  ter- 
cel gentle  be  in  the  properest  trim,  master." 

"  Ay,  well  thought  of;  but,  as  I  have  ever  marked, 
thou  hast  wonderful  foresight." 

"  Marry,  my  sight  be  good  enough  ;  methinks  I  can 
trace  a  hawk  as  well  as  any." 

"  In  truth  thou  hast  many  commendable  qualities,  and 
1  would  fain  give  some  token  of  how  well  esteemed  they 
are  of  me." 

"  Indeed  !  but  that  be  kind  of  you,  master  ;  monstrous 
kind  !  and,  as  for  my  qualities,  I  doubt  they  be  anything 
out  of  the  common.  Peradventure  I  am  as  cunning  at 
the  rearing  of  hawks  as  any  fellow  in  Warwickshire  ;  at 
quarterstaff,  wrestling,  pitch  the  bar,  running  at  the  quin- 
tain, and  other  games,  care  for  none  ;  and  will  dance  a 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  51 

morrice,  play  the  hobby-horse  in  the  May  games,  or  take 
a  fling  at  a  Shrove-tide  cock,  with  as  much  perfectness 
as  you  shall  see  among  a  thousand." 

His  master  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  so ;  yet  his  as- 
pect wore  a  troubled,  and  by  no  means  pleasing  expres- 
sion, that  looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  disburden  his  mind 
of  something.  For  a  while  he  kept  feeding  of  a  hawk 
he  held  on  his  wrist.  His  companion  was  a  sturdy  var- 
let  of  some  thirty  years,  with  a  freckled  face,  a  thick 
clumsy  head,  and  features  expressive  of  one  alike  reck- 
less and  impudent.  He  was  clad  in  a  forester's  frock  of 
Kendal  green,  confined  at  the  waist  with  a  belt,  having 
a  pocket  at  the  side,  below  which  little  could  be  seen, 
save  his  crimson  hose  and  thick  buff  boots  ;  and  he  wore 
a  rapier  and  a  dagger.  Of  these  two  the  one  was  Mas- 
ter Buzzard  of  whom  the  reader  hath  already  some 
knowledge,  and  the  other  was  his  man  Saul,  his  chief 
favorite  and  confidant.  They  were  together  in  the  hall, 
once  a  fair  chamber,  in  Master  Buzzard's  house,  with  a 
famous  timber  roof,  and  a  goodly  store  of  old  armor  hunn* 
about,  but  on  account  of  the  great  number  of  hawks  and 
dogs  that  were  kept  in  it,  some  being  here  and  some 
there,  a  litter  of  pups  in  one  corner  and  a  cast  of  falcons 
in  another,  with  lurchers,  deer-hounds,  and  spaniels  of 
every  kind,  running  in  and  out  of  every  hole  and  corner, 
with  little  regard  to  cleanliness,  the  place  was  scarce  fit 
for  any  human  being  to  be  in.  All  amongst  the  corslets 
and  plates  of  mail,  were  nailed  the  skins  of  herons  and 
the  tails  of  foxes,  the  antlers  of  a  stag  and  the  heads  of 
divers  kinds  of  wild  fowl,  badgers,  pole-cats,  and  other 
vermin  ;  and  there  seemed  to  be  but  little  furniture  in 
ordinary  use,  as  chair  or  table,  unencumbered  with  things 
necessary  for  hawking,  or  hunting,  or  fishing,  or  some 
sport  of  a  like  nature.  On  a  corner  of  a  long  table  close 
to  where  Master  Buzzard  was  standing,  there  stood  a 
Uay  with  the  remains  of  a  pasty,  and  a  flagon  beside  it, 
which  was  some  sign  that  the  place,  however  unsightly 
it  might  be,  was  not  badly  off  for  victual. 


52  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  Thou  knowest,  Saul,  bow  good  a  master  I  have  been 
to  thee,"  continued  Master  Buzzard. 

"Ay,  by  gog's  blood,  that  do  1 1  "  exclaimed  his  man 
with  great  earnestness,  "  and  many  thanks  to  your  wor- 
ship. I'  faith,  there  is  no  denying  I  am  well  off  for  a 
master,  for  one  more  cunning  in  hunting,  and  hawking, 
and  all  such  goodly  sports,  of  a  more  valorous  nature, 
let  his  weapon  be  what  it  may  ;  or  of  a  more  truly  prod- 
igal disposition,  upon  any  proper  occasion,  I  doubt  huge- 
ly, I  should  meet  with,  sought  I  ever  so.  Marry,  if  your 
worship  is  as  well  off  for  a  servant  as  am  I  for  a  master, 
then  ought  we  to  be  envied  of  all  men." 

"  By  God's,  1  value  not  my  best  goshawk  as  I  do  thy 
faithful  service,"  replied  his  master,  still  seeming  to  keep 
his  attention  fixed  upon  his  bird.  "  In  truth,  Saul,  1  do 
look  upon  thee  as  my  right  hand  ;  and  1  do  intend,  be- 
fore any  very  long  time  hath  passed,  to  show  thee  such 
excellent  instance  of  my  good  will  as  must  rejoice  thee 
infinitely  to  see." 

"  'Fore  George  !  master>  I  want  none  such,"  said  his 
companion,  albeit  with  a  marvelous  lack  of  sincerity. 
"  Yet  would  I  on  no  account  baulk  the  generousness  of 
your  humor.  I  am  not  unmindful  how  oft  your  worship 
hath  stood  between  me  and  harm,  when  a  parcel  of  poor 
linsey  wolsey  knaves  of  the  town  yonder,  went  about 
telling  of  me  the  horriblest  slanders  that  ever  was  heard." 

"  Ay,  it  hath  been  said  of  many  thou  wert  he  who 
stabbed  Daniel  Short,  of  Barston,  who  was  found  dead 
in  the  meadow,"  observed  the  other,  regarding  of  his 
goshawk  with  a  more  intense  earnestness.  "But  I  heed- 
ed them  not.  It  was  sworn  before  the  high  bailiff  thou 
didst  misuse  Joan  Springfield  at  the  town  end,  and  he 
was  for  proceeding  against  thee  with  as  much  severity  as 
might  be;  but  I  stayed  him  in  the  matter.  And  there 
was  much  ado  made  of  thy  shooting  at  Daniel  Buck- 
thorn, of  the  Mill ;  and  it  would  have  gone  hard  with 
jhee  had  I  not  stepped  in  and  hushed  all  up." 

"  Never  was  man  so  abused  !  "  exclaimed  Saul  with  3 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  53 

very  monstrous  vehemency.  "  I  have  enemies,  master, 
— scores  of  them,  I  promise  you  ;  and  they  be  such  thor- 
ough-going cowards  and  dastardly  poor  villains  as  cannot 
come  with  any  fair  weapon  before  me,  and  challenge  me 
with  the  infamy  they  would  lay  to  my  charge,  that  I 
might  disprove  it  on  their  pestilent  bodies,  but  must  needs 
whisper  all  manner  of  the  horriblest  false  stuff  that  ever 
was  uttered,  among  such  pitiful  fools  as  they  can  get  to 
listen  to  them.  'Slife,  master!  there  be  no  living  for 
such  knaves,  and  an  honest  man  might  as  well  go  hang 
at  once  as  be  pestered  with  them.  For  mine  own  part, 
I  do  think  the  ridding  of  the  world  of  any  a  very  com- 
mendable thing  ;  and  could  I  meet  with  one  who  had 
been  playing  his  knave's  tricks  on  your  worship,  or  on 
any  other  for  whom  I  am  so  bound,  I  would  slit  his  wes- 
son for  him  whenever  the  time  served,  and  none  should 
be  the  wiser." 

A  smile  of  peculiar  meaning  appeared  on  the  face  of 
Master  Buzzard  at  this  intimation. 

"  Dost  know   John  a   Combe  ?  "   inquired    the   latter 
with  an  assumed  indifferency. 

"  Know  John  a  Combe  !"  exclaimed  Saul  in  some  sur- 
prise, and  with  a  more  evident  contempt.  "  Is  he  not  the 
errantest  skipjack  in  all  the  country  round  ? — a  fine  Sun- 
day gentleman,  forsooth  !  that  looks  as  if  he  layeth  him- 
self up  in  lavender  o1  nights,  that  he  may  smell  sweet 
i'  the  morning?  Why,  he  is  as  common  as  the  stocks, 
and  as  like  to  be  avoided  of  all  true  men  as  is  the  pillory 
or  the  whipping-post.  I  should  as  soon  expect  Gammer 
Lambswool  to  inquire  for  the  gossip's  bridle,  as  your  wor- 
ship to  ask  after  John  a  Combe.  'Sblood!  he  taketh 
upon  him,  too,  to  come  Master  perfection  over  us,  and 
must  needs  be  seeking  to  be  thought  an  example  of  good- 
ness, and  wisdom,  and  every  virtue  under  the  sun,  think- 
ing to  be  as  famous  as  Sir  Guy  of  Warwick.  I  would 
forfeit  a  year's  wages  found  I  not  more  virtue  in  a  bunch 
of  nettles  than  you  shall  discover  in  him,  search  you  from 
now  till  doomsday." 
VOL.  I.  5* 


54  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE, 

Master  Buzzard  sought  not  to  interrupt  his  man  in  his 
speech,  for  a  very  excellent  reason,  because  it  was  much 
to  his  liking,  the  which  the  other  knew  full  well  ;  for  he 
was  a  cunning  knave,  that  ever  studied  to  jump  with  his 
masters'  humor  at  all  times,  and  was  aware  jof  what  had 
passed  betwixt  him  and  Master  Combe,  and  moreover, 
was  willing  enough  to  reap  advantage  of  it. 

"  Indeed,  I  take  him  to  be  as  scurvy  a  fellow  as  any 
that  lives,"  observed  Master  Buzzard  with  wonderful 
bitterness. 

"  That  is  he,  out  of  all  doubt,"  replied  his  man  in 
much  the  same  sort  of  spirit.  "  I  hate  such  popinjays. 
It  be  monstrous  fine  certainly  for  such  a  paltry  knave  as 
he  is  to  be  ever  schooling  of  your  worship,  as  it  were  " — 

"  I  tell  thee,  Saul,  I  will  endure  his  swaggering  airs 
no  longer!  "  exclaimed  Master  Buzzard,  interrupting  his 
man  with  great  fierceness.  "  He  is  ever  thrusting  him- 
self in  my  way — a  murrain  on  him  1  I  cannot  do  as  my 
wont  for  his  pestilent  meddling.  Wherever  he  is  I  must 
need  play  mumchance.  All  run  to  John  a  Combe  ;  all 
bend  to  John  a  Combe ;  all  listen  to  John  a  Combe  ! 
\Slife !  it  maketh  me  mad  to  see  him  so  noticed,  so 
praised,  so  courted,  whilst  his  betters  must  be  thrust  aside 
as  worthy  of  no  better  heed  than  a  mangy  cur," 

"  Doth  the  caitiff  ruffle  it  so  bravely  ?  "  inquired  the 
other.  "  Well,  never  heard  I  of  such  thorough  impu* 
dency.  But  what  ignorant  poor  fools  must  be  they  who 
would  be  led  by  him  !  Marry  !  I  am  so  moved  with  in* 
dignation  at  the  slights  put  on  your  worship  by  so  paltry 
a  villain,  that  I  know  not  what  mischief  I  should  be 
ready  to  do  him," 

(  But  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it,"  continued  his  mas- 
ter with  more  vehemence.  "  He  hath  put  on  me  intol- 
erable affronts,  and  as  yet  all  attempts,  seek  I  when  I 
would,  to  be  revenged  of  him,  have  been  bootless,  ]\o 
later  than  this  very  morning,  scarce  an  hour  gone, 
meeting  him  alone  in  the  back  lane,  I  drew  upon  him, 
thinking  I  had  him  sure ;  but  the  villain  carried  some  am- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  55 

ulet  or  devilish  charm  ;  for,  though  I  made  my  deadliest 
thrusts  with  ail  the  skill  of  which  I  am  master,  he  remained 
unhurt,  and  in  a  short  space  my  weapon  was  sent  flying 
out  of  my  hand  a  full  twenty  yards  ;  whereupon,  with  a 
Judas  smile,  the  villain  bowed  to  me,  and  wishing  me 
1  Good  day/  took  himself  off  on  the  instant." 

"O'  my  life!  'twas  but  a  coward's  trick,  master!" 
cried  Saul.  "I  marvel  you  did  not  after  him  and  stick 
him  as  he  went." 

"  By  this  hand,  I  would  gladly  have  done  it!"  ex- 
claimed his  master.  But  I  was  so  confounded  at  the 
flight  of  my  rapier,  and  at  the  fellow's  assurance,  that  I 
knew  not  what  to  be  at,  and  ere  I  had  resolved,  he  had 
gone  clean  out  of  sight.  Doubtless  he  will  go  bruiting 
it  abroad,  as  far  as  he  can,  bow  he  had  me  at  his  mercy 
and  spared  my  life.  'Slife  !'  continued  he  with  an  ex- 
ceeding uneasy  and  malignant  look  with  him,  "  methinks 
I  am  poorly  served  when  such  a  fellow  as  this  can  do  me 
all  manner  of  offence,  and  go  unharmed." 

"  Nay,  by  your  leave,  master,  not  so,"  quickly  an- 
swered Saul,  "  when  you  have  had  my  service  in  this 
business,  I  will  be  bold  to  say  you  shall  not  count  your- 
self poorly  served." 

il  I  would  I  could  be  well  rid  of  him,"  said  Master 
Buzzard  in  a  lower  voice. 

"  If  it  please  you,  master,  let  that  be  my  care,"  ob- 
served the  other. 

('  I  hear  that  he  is  oft  to  be  met  with  after  dark  in  the 
narrow  lane  at  the  town  end,"  observed  Master  Buzzard, 
his  voice  gradually  sinking  to  a  whisper. 

"  A  goodly  place,  and  a  goodly  time  too,"  added  the 
other  with  a  sort  of  half  audible  laugh,  "  but  mayhap 
his  worship  shall  choose  to  go  there  once  too  often." 
Thus  went  they  on,  as  bad  men  do  concert  their  villain- 
ies,  half  ashamed  to  look  each  other  in  the  face,  and  as 
their  intentions  became  manifest,  dropping  their  voices  to 
a  close  whisper,  that  the  evil  they  would  be  about  might 
not  be  heard  of  any.     But  in  this  J  can  follow  them  no 


56 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE. 


longer,  having  game  in  view  more  worthy  of  the  reader's 
attention. 

There   was  a  hall  to   be  holelen  at  the  town  that   day, 
at  which  the  aldermen  and  others  of  the  corporation  had 
been  summoned  in  such  terms  as  showed  it  to  be   a  mat- 
ter of  the    very  hugest   importance   that  called    them  to- 
gether.    Whether    it  related    to  certain  intelligence    of 
some  rebellion  broke  out  against  the  Queen's   Highness, 
to  risings    of  the  papists,  or  to  rumors  of  invasion  from 
the  Spaniards,  seemed  not  to  be  clearly  ascertained  ;  for 
among  the  honest  burgesses  who  had  got  note  of  this  ex- 
traordinary me-etmg  there  were  heard  as  many   reasons 
for  it  as  there  were  tongues  to  speak  them,  whereof  the 
general  belief  at  last  rested  upon  the  three  above  named. 
That  nothing  threatened  to  affect  the  immediate  safety  of 
the  town  was  apparent  from  the  usual    air  of  carelessness 
and  security  that  prevailed  throughout  the  principal  street. 
Here  might  be  seen  a  troop  of  boys  fresh  broke  out  from 
school,  hallooing  like  mad  ;  there  a  knot  of  a  meaner  sort 
at  play,  whilst  a  little  one  from  the  school,  though  hasten- 
ing home  to  his  parents,  kept  casting  behind  him  a  wistful 
look,  as  if  he  did  long  to  join  in   their  pastime.     One  or 
two  big  dogs  were  seen  stretched  at  their  length  by  their 
master's  doors,  and  now  and  then  some  one  or  another  of 
a  smaller  kind  would  dart  out  of  a  doorway,  yelping   at 
the  heels  of  the  noisy  children,  till  one  more  courageous 
than   his    fellows  would    up  with  a  stone,  and  send    him 
back  yelping  louder  than  he  came,  making  the  tailor  leap 
from  his  board,  the  cordvvainer  throw  down  his    lapstone, 
and  the  apprentice    leave  his  work,   to  see  what  was  the 
hubbub.      Here  and   there  careful    mothers  were   caNing 
out  of  their   casements  to    hasten    home  their    boys,    or 
some    provident    housewife   would    be    casting  a  store  of 
victual  for  the  feeding  of  her   stock  of  fowls,    who,  with 
fluttering  wings  and  eager  throats,  would  be  seen  eagerly 
flocking  towards  her. 

In  several  places,  there  might  be  seen  some  two  or  three 
of  the  neighbors  conversing  soberly  and   with  great  show 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  57 

of  earnestness,  more  particularly  about  the  doors  of  the 
principal  burgesses  ;  and  in  front  of  the  casements  of  Mas- 
ter Alderman  Malmsey,  the  vintner,  where  there  was  a  fa- 
mous group,  with  a  horseman  in  the  midst,  looking  to  be  so 
busy  of  speech  as  to  pay  but  little  heed  to  the  tankards 
and  drinking  horns  held  by  some  of  them.  Opposite 
was  the  dwelling  of  Master  Alderman  Dowlas,  the 
draper,  with  its  lower  windows  showing  divers  rolls 
of  cloth  of  sundry  colors,  whilst  at  the  open  casement 
above  sat  his  buxom  fair  wife,  with  Mistress  Malmsey  at 
her  side,  plying  of  her  needle  with  a  very  commendable 
industry,  and  as  it  seemed  using  her  tongue  with  a  like 
speed.  Coming  down  the  street  was  a  drove  of  cows, 
some  of  which  must  needs  put  their  heads  in  the  water- 
trough  before  the  inn,  thinking  to  have  a  good  drink,  but 
the  stable  boys  would  not  allow  of  it,  for  they  drove  them 
off  presently,  by  throwing  up  their  arms,  and  making  a 
great  shouting.  A  little  curly-haired  child  scarce  big 
enough  to  run  alone,  was  standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
road  mooing  at  the  cattle  as  bold  as  you  please,  and  put- 
ting out  its  little  hands  as  if  to  prevent  them  going  fur- 
ther ;  and  an  elder  sister,  with  a  marvelous  anxious 
frightened  face,  was  rushing  from  a  neighboring  door- 
way to  hurry  him  out  of  danger.  All  the  casements, 
and  nearly  all  the  doors,  stood  invitingly  open  for  it  was 
a  hot  summer's  day  at  the  latter  end  of  June,  and  every- 
where there  were  signs  of  a  desire  to  be  relieved  of  the 
oppressive  sultriness  of  the  atmosphere,  either  by  seek- 
ing of  the  shady  place,  or  where  a  draught  of  cooler  air 
might  be  gained,  or  by  drinking  of  tankards  of  cider 
and  other  refreshing  liquors,  wherever  they  might  be  had. 
For  all  this  gossiping  and  carelessness  on  every  side, 
it  was  noted  that  one  or  two  of  the  elder  aldermen  who 
were  going  to  the  hall,  wore  visages  of  exceeding  grav- 
ity, and  seemed  intent  upon  avoiding  the  approaches  of 
such  of  their  townsmen  as  they  met  in  their  way,  with 
looks  so  suspicious  and  fearful,  that  the  latter  knew  not 
what  to  make  of  it.     Presently,    there    came   by    John 


58  THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSFEARE. 

Shakspeare  and  Master  Combe,  likewise  on  their  way 
to  the  hall ;  but  they  looked  to  be  in  a  more  bserious  hu- 
mor even  than  the  aldermen,  and  would  on  no  account 
stop  for  any,  which  was  the  more  strange,  because 
both  were  well  known  to  be  of  a  most  friendly  spirit, 
and  had  ever  cheerfully  answered  any  man's  salutation. 

"  Whether  so  fast,  my  master  ?  "  shouted  Sir  Nathan- 
iel, as  he  popped  his  fat  rosy  face  out  at  the  casement 
to  call  them.  "  Dost  pass  so  exquisite  a  house  of  enter- 
tainment as  this,  at  the  pace  thou  art  going,  when  the  sun 
seemeth  to  be  intent  upon  making  of  us  so  many  St.  Bar- 
tholomews ?  Two  rabid  dogs  could  not  have  behaved 
less  reasonably  towards  good  liquor.  Prithee,  come 
and  share  with  us,  and  doubt  not  being  welcome,  even  if 
thou  pay  for  all." 

To  this  invitation,  the  two  merely  shook  their  beads 
and  continued  on  their  way,  to  the  huge  discontent  of  the 
curate  and  the  schoolmaster,  who,  at  the  sight  of  them, 
expected  to  have  had  at  least  an  extra  tankard  or  two 
without  hurt  to  their  own  purses. 

John  Shakspeare  and  his  friend  theu  proceeded  with- 
out further  hindrance  to  the  church,  ana1  soon  afterwards 
entered  the  vestry — a  chamber  of  no  great  dimensions, 
furnished  only  with  a  long  table,  at  the  head  of  which 
was  a  high-backed  chairy  and  on  each  side  were  a  couple 
of  benches.  In  the  chair  was  the  high  bailiff,  one  Tim- 
othy Mallet,  the  wheelwright.  Opposite,  on  a  low 
stool,  with  a  many  papers,  and  two  or  three  huge  books 
before  him,  sat  the  diminutive  form  of  Jemmy  Catchpole, 
the  town  lawyer,  who  was  said  to  be  so  learned  in  the 
law  as  to  be  fitter  to  be  a  judge  of  assize  than  any  liv- 
ing. His  sharp  grey  eyes  twinkled  with  a  perpetual 
restlessness,  and  his  parchment-skin  seemed  growing  of 
a  deeper  yellow,  as,  with  pen  in  his  hand,  he  watched  or 
made  notes  of  the  matter  proceeding.  On  each  side 
were  seated  such  of  the  aldermen  as  attended,  likewise 
others  of  the  corporation  who  were  not  of  the  alder- 
men ;     and  Master  Alderman  Malmsey,   with  his  purple 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  59 

in-grain  countenance    and   very   puncheon    of  a  person, 
who  affected  the  orator  in  no  small  measure,    was  on    his 
legs,  if  such  round   things   as  he  had  might  be  so  called, 
denouncing  with  a  monstrous  vehemency  a   motion,  then 
under  discussion,    for  repairing  the    parish    well.     Some 
listened  to  him  attentively,  others  were  conversing  apart  ; 
but  it  might  have  been  noted,  that  a  few  wore  aspects  so 
anxious  as  plainly   showed    their    minds  were   intent  on 
another  matter.      His  argument  was  to  the  effect,    that 
water  was  a  thing  which  all  honest   men  ought  to  eschew, 
unless  as  at  the  marriage  at  Cana  it  could  be  turned  into 
wine,    and   that  *wine    was   a  thing   most   absolute    and 
necessary  to  every  man's  well  doing  ;  therefore,  it  would 
be  much  better   to  buy    a    pipe  of  such    fine   hippocras 
as  he  could  sell  them,  for  the  use,  of  the  corporation,  than 
te  apply  any  of  its  funds  for  the  repairing  of  so  unprofita- 
ble a  thing  as  a  well.     At  this,  upstarted  at  once  a  baker 
and  a  butcher,  swearing  with  equal  vehemency,  that  noth- 
ing was  so  necessary  as  plenty  of  bread    and  meat,   and 
advocating  the  greater  laudableness  of  laying  in  a  store  of 
such   victual,  which   they  could   not  do  better  than  have 
of  them,  to  wasting  the  corporation   funds  in  the  project 
that  had  so  injudiciously  been   proposed.     Others  might 
have  followed   in  a  like  strain,    but  at  this  instant  John 
Shakspeare,  who  had  waited    with  his  stock  of  patience 
getting  to  be  less  and  less  every  moment,  now  rose,  and 
with  his  honest  face   somewhat   pale   and  of  an   uneasy 
expression,  proceeded  to  take  a  share  in  the  debate.     It 
was  noticed,  that  on  his  rising,  the  few  who  had  appeared 
so  unmindful   of  what  was  going  on,  looked  marvelously 
attentive  ;    and  the   others,  as  if  curious   to  know  what 
one  so  well  esteemed  had  to  say  on  the  matter,  were  no 
less  careful  listeners. 

"l.pray  you  lose  not  the  prtcious  time  in  such  idle 
stuff  as  this,"  exclaimed  he.  "  We  waut  your  wisest 
counsel.  We  are  threatened  with  such  calamity  as  is 
enough  at  the  mere  thought  of  it,  to  strike  us  dead  with 
fear.     We  cannot  thrust  it  aside.      It  hath  come  upon  us 


60 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


unprepared.  All  that  can  be  done  is  to  endeavor  to  keep 
the  mischief  in  as  narrow  a  compass  as  may  be  possible. 
Up  and  be  doing  then,  my  masters,  without  a  moment's 
delaying,  for  the  negligence  of  one  may  be  the  destruc- 
tion of  all." 

At  the  hearing  of  this  discourse,  so  different  from  what 
all,  excepting  the  anxious  few,  expected,  the  greater 
number  stared  in  absolute  astonishment,  and  the  rest 
waited  as  if  in  the  expectation  of  hearing  what  was  to 
follow. 

"  My  friends  !  "  continued  the  speaker,  in  a  low,  thick 
voice,  as  if  he  could  scarce  speak,  "  The  plague  is  in 
Stratford !  " 

"  The  plague  ?  "  exclaimed  many  in  the  same  moment 
of  time,  leaning  forward  from  their  seats,  breathless  with 
horror  and  surprise. 

"  I  would  to  God  there  could  be  a  doubt  of  it  !  "  re- 
plied John  Shakspeare.  "  My  worthy  and  approved 
good  friend,  Master  Combe,  of  whose  honorableness  there 
can  be  none  here  present  who  have  not  had  excellent  evi- 
dence, hath,  in  one  of  the  manifold  generous  offices  he  is 
ever  intent  upon  doing  to  his  poorer  neighbors,  made  this 
doleful  discovery  ;  and  with  the  advice  of  divers  of  the 
most  experienced  of  my  fellow  burgesses,  who  alone 
knew  of  it  from  me,  I  have  had  you  here  assembled, 
that  you  might  learn  from  him  the  exact  truth,  and  then 
consider  amongst  yourselves  which  be  the  fittest  way  of 
providing  for  the  common  safety." 

At  this  there  was  a  dead  silence  ;  and  when  Master 
Combe  stood  up,  every  eye  was  strained  to  scrutinize 
him,  and  every  ear  stretched  forward  to  hear  the  most 
distinctly  the  promised  communication. 

"  I  pray  you,  my  worthy  neighbors  and  friends,  fear 
nothing  !  "  exclaimed  John  a  Combe  ;  "  fear  wilt  only 
make  you  the  victim  of  what  you  dread  ;  but  courage 
and  good  conduct  will  help  you  to  drive  the  pestilence 
from  your  door.  That  it  doth  exist  amongst  us,  I  would 
I  could  doubt ;  and  this  is  how  I  came  at  the  knowledge 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  61 

of  it.  Hearing  that  there  was  a  poor  family  visited  with 
a  sudden  sickness,  of  which  some  were  like  to  die  had 
they  not  help  presently,  I  speeded  thither  with  what 
medicines  I  usually  carry  on  such  occasions,  knowing 
them  to  be  of  special  benefit  in  divers  disorders.  In  a 
low  cottage,  ruinous,  and  exceeding  dirty,  I  came  upon 
the  sufferers.  As  God  me  save,  1  there  saw  a  sight  such 
as  I  have  not  seen  in  my  wbole  life  before  ;  and  trust  in 
Jesu  never  to  see  again.  1  entered  at  the  kitchen,  where, 
in  one  corner,  on  a  litter  of  rushes,  I  beheld  one  dead, 
the  father  of  this  wretched  family,  and,  by  his  side,  his 
wife  in  the  last  agonies  ;  the  fixed  stare  of  whose  yellow 
eyeballs  settling  into  death,  I  saw  at  a  glance  made  all 
help  of  medicine  out  of  the  case.  A  babe  was  crawling 
on  the  floor  towards  her  ;  but  it  had  a  sickly  look  with 
it  that  was  ghastly  to  see.  In  another  corner  was  a 
young  girl  dead  also,  her  fair  face  getting  to  be  discolored 
and  unsightly  ;  and  in  a  chair  was  a  boy  who,  by  his 
dress,  I  knew  was  used  to  labor  in  the  fieltls,  and  he 
complained  he  felt  so  deadly  bad  he  could  not  return  to 
his  work.  I  went  into  another  chamber,  where  was  the 
old  grannam,  lying  upon  a  truckle  bed,  moaning  terribly, 
but  saying  nought  ;  and  doubled  up  at  her  feet  was  the 
figure  of  another  ancient  dame,  who  had  been  her  nurse 
till  she  dropped  where  she  was,  and  could  not  be  got  to 
move  hand  or  foot.  I  was  informed,  by  a  charitable 
neighbor  who  came  in  with  me,  that  this  illness  had  only 
appeared  amongst  them  since  the  preceeding  night,  soon 
after  unpacking  of  a  parcel  they  had  received  by  the 
carrier  from  some  friends  in  London.  On  hearing  this  I 
had  a  sudden  misgiving,  for  I  had  received  certain  intel- 
ligence  the  day  previous,  that  the  pestilence  had  broke 
out  there.  My  heart  was  too  f jll  to  speak  ;  and  when 
I  was  further  told,  that  in  addition  to  the  inmates  of  the 
cottage,  sundry  of  the  neighbors  who  had  called  in,  hear- 
ing of  their  sickness,  had  been  taken  with  a  like  disor- 
der, one  of  whom  had  given  up  the  ghost  not  half  an 
hour  since,  my  suspicion  took  firmer  ground.     Presently 

•      VOL.  I.  6 


62 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


I  examined  one  of  the  dead.  My  fears  then  received 
terrible  confirmation.  The  plague  spot  was  upon  him. 
Having  given  such  orders  as  I  thought  necessary,  with- 
out exciting  any  alarm,  I  fumigated  myself  well,  and 
acquainted  my  good  friend,  John  Shakspeare,  with  the 
fearful  truth  ;  and  by  his  advice  you  have  been  called 
here  to  take  instant  measures  to  prevent  the  spreading  of 
this  direful  calamity.  In  whatsoever  thing  1  may  be  of 
service  at  this  unhappy  time,  I  pray  you  use  me  as  one 
friend  would  use  another.  Believe  me,  I  will  do  it  lov- 
ingly, whatever  may  be  required." 

Though  the  speaker  concluded  what  he  had  to  say, 
for  some  moments'  space  none  sought  to  interrupt  the 
awful  silence  which  followed  ;  but  sat  like  so  many  stat- 
ues of  fear,  with  eyes  almost  starting  from  their  sockets, 
mouths  partly  open,  and  big  drops  of  perspiration  stand- 
ing upon  their  wrinkled  foreheads.  Of  the  most  terrified 
was  the  little  lawyer  upon  the  stool,  who,  leaning  his  el- 
bows on  the  table,  and  with  his  pointed  chin  resting  upon 
his  palms,  kept  his  sharp  eyes  fixed  upon  John  a  Combe, 
looking  more  frightened  as  the  other  proceeded  in  his 
narration,  till  he  gave  voice  to  his  consternation  in  an 
audible  groan.  Presently,  some  began  to  turn  their  gaze 
from  Master  Combe  to  each  other,  and  finding  in  every 
face  the  horror  so  vissible  in  their  own,  they  remained 
stupified  and  bewildered,  till  one  nigh  unto  the  door 
rushed  out,  and  with  the  look  of  one  struck  with  a  sud- 
den frenzy,  ran  home,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
"The  plague!  the  plague!"  and  many  others  of  that 
assembly,  put  out  of  all  discretion  by  the  greatness  of 
their  fear,  made  from  the  place  with  as  much  speed  of 
foot  as  they  could  use,  in  the  hope  of  securing  the  safety 
of  themselves  and  families.  They  that  were  left  then 
proceeded  to  take  counsel  among  themselves  what  was 
fittest  to  be  done  ;  and  Master  Combe,  being  invited  by 
them  to  assist  in  their  deliberations,  did  give  such  excel- 
lent advice,  that  it  was  agreed  to  by  all,  with  wonderful 
admiration  of  his   wisdom  and  greatness  of  heart ;    and 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  63 

they  sat  for  several  hours  making  resolutions  in  accord- 
ance with  what  he  had  proposed. 

"I  cannot  hear  of  a  denial,"  said  Master  Combe  to 
John  Shakspeare,  as  they  were  returning  together  from 
the  hall.  "  This  can  be  now  no  proper  place  for  your 
sweet  wife  and  her  young  son,  or  any  of  her  family.  Stay 
they  here,  it  must  be  at  the  hazard  of  their  lives,  for 
none  can  say  who  shall  escape  ;  whilst  if  they  seek  ref- 
uge in  my  poor  dwelling  till  the  danger  hath  passed,  they 
need  have  communication  with  none,  and  so  shall  be  in 
no  peril." 

"  In  honest  truth  I  like  it  well,  Master  Combe,  and 
am  much  beholden  to  you  for  your  friendly  care,"  replied 
his  companion.  "  Yet  am  I  fearful  of  accepting  of  your 
courtesy,  thinking  it  may  put  you  to  inconvenience,  and 
to  some  danger  also." 

"  Speak  not  of  it,  an'  you  love  me,"  said  the  other, 
with  a  very  sincere  earnestness;  "it  is  at  your  entire 
disposal,  as  long  as  it  may  be  at  your  need.  As  for  my- 
self, this  is  my  place.  Whilst  so  many  of  my  neighbors 
are  in  such  imminent  peril,  here  will  I  remain  to  do  them 
whatever  office  may  be  expedient  for  their  good." 

"An'  if  it  please  you,  worthy  sir,  I  will  assist  you  with 
what  humble  ability  I  have,"  added  John  Shakspeare  ; 
"  I  will  take  order  that  my  dame  and  her  babe  proceed 
forthwith,  with  their  attendants,  to  the  security  provided 
for  them  ;  for  which  sweet  kindness  I  and  mine  shall  feel 
bound  to  you  ever  after,  and  will  make  provision  for  her 
having  all  things  necessary  ;  and  then  I  will  hold  myself 
in  readiness  to  do  whatsoever  you  shall  think  fittest." 

"  I  would  accept  of  no  help  in  this  matter  sooner  than 
your  own,"  answered  Master  Combe  ;  "  knowing  your 
thorough  honesty  and  well  disposedness,  as  I  do  ;  yet, 
methinks,  you  shall  find  sufficient  in  this  strait  to  watch 
over  the  safety  of  those  dearest  to  you,  and  cannot  ad- 
visedly, when  they  are  looking  to  you  for  help,  put  your 
life  in  jeopardy  for  the  security  of  others." 

u  Nay,   by  your  leave,   Master  Combe,  though  I  am 


64  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

no  scholar,  I  cannot  allow  of  that,"  exclaimed  John 
Shakspeare,  with  some  eagerness  ;  methinks  my  duty  to 
my  neighbors  calleth  me  to  their  assistance  when  they 
shall  require  it  of  me,  quite  as  loudly  as  it  may  yourself." 

"But  forget  you  how  many  are  dependent  on  vour 
exertions  for  an  honest  living,  which  is  not  my  case," 
answered  his  companion. 

"  I  will  see  to  their  safety,  and  I  will  look  v/ith  as 
much  care  as  I  may  to  my  own,"  said  the  other  earnest- 
ly ;  abut,  in  mine  own  opinion,  I  should  be  deserving  of 
the  good  will  of  none,  were  I  to  slink  away  when  danger 
was  at  the  heels  of  my  friends,  and  leave  them  to  stand 
it  as  they  might,  whilst  I  cared  only  for  the  safety  of  my- 
self and  what  belonged  lo  me." 

"  Your  hand,  honest  John  Shakspeare  !  "  cried  Mas- 
ter Combe,  shaking  his  friend's  hand  very  heartily  in  his 
pwn.  "  Believe  me,  I  love  you  all  the  better  for  having 
such  notions.  But  I  must  down  this  lane,"  continued 
he,  as  they  stood  together  at  the  corner  ;  "  I  beseech  you 
hasten  your  sweet  wife  as  much  as  you  can,  that  she  may 
out  of  the  town  with  as  little  delaying  as  need  be  at  such 
a  time,  and  I  will  with  all  convenient  speed  to  my  house 
to  prepare  for  her  reception.  A  fair  good  night  to  you, 
neighbor." 

"  God  speed  you,  worthy  sir,  in  all  you  do ! "  ex- 
claimed the  other,  with  the  same  friendly  feeling,  as 
Master  Cornbe  proceeded  on  his  way.  "  There  wends 
as  good  a  man  as  ever  broke  bread  !  "  continued  he, 
when  the  object  of  his  praise  was  out  of  hearing  ;  and  he 
stood  where  he  was  for  some  minutes,  leaning  on  his 
staff,  with  his  honest  heart  full  of  admiration,  watching 
the  progress  of  his  companion,  till  a  turning  of  the  lane 
hid  him  from  his  view.  It  was  now  just  upon  twilight,  and 
the  lane  being  bordered  by  tall  trees,  closely  planted 
and  in  their  fullest  foliage,  a  great  portion  of  it  was  in 
deep  shadow  ;  but  this  seemed  only  to  make  more  fresh 
and  vivid  the  high  bank  on  the  other  side  which  led  up 
into  a  cornfield,  whereof  the  rich  yellow  ears,  and  the 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  65 

crimson  poppies  blushing  beneath  them,  as  seen  in  every 
gap  of  the   hedge,  gave    promise  of  abundant   harvest ; 
and  the  hedge,  being  of  elder  in  great  patches  of  blos- 
som, looked  at  a  distance   like   unto   pure  white  linen  a 
drying  on  the  green   branches.     John  a  Combe,  as  he 
walked  along,  noticing  the  quick  movements  of  the  bats, 
whirling  here  and  therein  quest  of  such  insects  as  formed 
their  victual,  on  a  sudden   had  his   eye   attracted   by  a 
gleam  of  light  on   the  opposite  bank,  which   at  first  he 
took  to  be  a  glow  worm,  but  the   next  moment   distin- 
guished a  large   black  mass  moving  in  the  deep  shadow ; 
the  "which  he  had  scarce  made  out  to  be  the  figure  of  a 
man,  when  two  men,   armed   and  masked,  rushed   upon 
him  from  that  very  spot.     As  quick  as  lightning  his  rap- 
ier was  out  and  he  on  his  defence.     A  muttered  execra- 
tion was  all  he  heard,  as   they  came  upon  him  both  at 
once,  in  such  a  sort  as  proved  they  would  have  his  life  if 
they  could.     John  a  Combe  was  on  the  brink  of  a  dry 
ditch,  and  within  a  few  yards  of  a  gate  leading  to  the 
cornfield,  over  against  which  was  an  opening  in  the  trees 
that  gave  a  fair  light  to  see  all   around;  and  for  this  he 
made,  defending  himself  the  whilst  so  briskly  that  neither 
of  his  opponents  could  get  him  at  an  advantage.     Here 
having  got  himself  without  hurt  of  any  kind,  he  put  his 
back  to  the  gate,  and  now,  seeing  that  he  had  before  him 
two  stout  varlets  in  masks,  who  pressed  on  him  as  though 
they  would  not  be  baffled  in  their  aims,  he  presently  put 
forth  what  cunning  of  fence  he  had,  and  so  nimble  was 
-his  steel,  and  so  quick   his   movements,  that  he   avoided 
every  thrust.  This,  however,  only  seemed  to  make  them 
the  more  savage  and  desperate,  and  they  pressed  closer 
upon  him.     What  might  have   been  the   end  on't  had 
things  gone  on,  I  cannot  take  on  me  to  determine ;  but 
the  conflict  was  stopped  much  sooner  than  was  expected 
of  any,  for  one  of  the   two  was  felled  to  the  earth  from 
an  unseen  hand,  and  the  other  varlet   at  the  same   mo- 
ment got  such  a  thrust  in  his  wrist  as  made  him  incapable 
of  any  mischief. 

VOL.    I.  6* 


66  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSFEAttfi. 

"Lie  there,  caitiff!  "  exclaimed  John  Shakspeare, 
who,  loitering  at  the  top  of  the  lane,  had  heard  the  clash 
of  the  weapons,  and  hastening  to  the  spot  had  come  in 
time  to  deal  a  blow  with  his  staff  that  rid  his  friend  of 
the  fiercest  of  his  assailants.  "  Lie  there  for  a  pitiful 
coward,  and  a  knave  to  boot.  I  doubt  not  hanging  be 
too  good  for  thee,  thou  murderous  villain,  to  seek  the  life 
of  one  of  so  excellent  a  nature.  But  thou  hast  not  done 
amiss  in  hiding  of  thy  face,  for  I  warrant  we  shall  find 
rascal  writ  in  every  line  of  it.  As  I  live,  Master  Buz- 
zard !  "  cried  he  in  some  surprise,  as  he  took  off  the  mask 
of  him  he  had  knocked  down. 

"And  here  have  we  no  bigger  a  villain  to  help  him 
than  his  man  Saul ! "  exclaimed  John  a  Combe,  as  he 
tore  off  the  visor  of  the  other.  Master  Buzzard  came 
to  himself  presently,  for  he  was  but  little  hurt,  and  find- 
ing he  had  been  so  completely  baffled,  he  said  never  a 
word.  As  soon  as  he  regained  his  footing,  with  a  look 
of  devilish  malignity  he  took  himself  off,  leaving  his  man 
to  follow  as  he  best  might.  Neither  received  hindrance 
from  Master  Combe  or  his  trusty  friend,  who  were  in 
truth  monstrous  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  company  of  such 
thorough  paced  villains. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  67 


CHAPTER  IV. 

And  what's  a  life  ?     A  weary  pilgrimage 
Whose  glory  in  one  day  doth  fill  the  stage 
With  childhood,  manhood,  and  decripit  age. 
And  what's  a  life  ?     The  flourishing  array 
Of  the  proud  summer  meadow,  which,  to-day, 
Wears  her  green  plush,  and  is  to-morrow  —  hay. 

Quarles. 

How  now  !  Ah  me  ! 
God  and  all  saints  he  good  to  us  ! 

Ben  Jonson. 

Death  may  usurp  on  nature  many  hours, 
And  yet  the  fire  of  life  kindle  again 
The  overpressed  spirits. 

Shakspeare. 

The  house  of  John  a  Combe,  so  handsomely  offered 
by  him  for  the  reception  of  Dame  Shakspeare  and  her 
infant  son,  lay  about  a  mile  from  Stratford,  the  nighest 
way  across  the  fields  ;  and  had  been  built  some  twenty 
years  in  a  famous  quaint  pretty  style,  with  projecting  ga- 
bles, curiously  formed  and  carved  ;  a  latticed  porch, 
whereon  all  manner  of  delicate  flowers  were  climbing 
very  daintily,  and  it  was  enclosed  with  its  garden  in  a 
high  wall  that  had  iron  gates,  in  an  arch-way  in  front, 
from  which  a  broad  path  led  on  each  side  of  a  well-kept 
lawn  right  up  to  the  house. 

Dame  Shakspeare  had  a  famous  fire  of  good  logs  burn- 
ing in  her  chamber,  the  light  whereof  shewed  the  goodly 
hangings  of  the  bed,  and  rich  arras  brought  from  beyond 
seas  that  were  about  the  wainscot,  with  all  the  store  of 
needful  furniture  in  high  presses,  cupboards,  chairs,  ta- 
bles, and  the  like,  exquisitely  carved  in  choice  woods 
that  stood  around  her  on  every  side.  The  good  dame, 
clad  in  a  simple  long  garment  of  linen  that  wrapt  her  all 


68  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

around,  sat  at  some  short  distance  from  the  fire-dogs, 
knitting  of  a  pair  of  hose,  whilst  over  against  her  sat 
nurse  Cicely,  with  the  bajpe  in  her  lap,  the  front  of  his 
white  frock  hid  under  a  dowlas  cloth,  that  was  carefully 
tucked  under  his  chin,  feeding  him  with  a  pap-spoon. 
Nurse  talked  on  without  ceasing,  gossipping  to  the 
mother  and  prattling  to  the  babe,  all  in  a  breath  ;  but 
Dame  Shakspeare  scarce  spoke  a  word.  Indeed,  her 
thoughts  were  in  a  strange  misgiving  humor,  fearing  for 
the  present,  and  doubting  of  the  future,  till  her  eye  would 
light  on  her  sweet  son  ;  and  then  noticing  of  his  exceed- 
ing happiness  at  what  he  was  about,  her  aspect  would 
catch  a  sudden  brightness,  and  mayhap  she  would  say 
something  as  if  there  was  nought  to  trouble  her. 

"  Of  those  who  are  dead  some  say  there  is  no  know- 
ing for  the  number,"  continued  nurse.  "Thev  die  out 
of  all  calculation  ;  not  here  and  there  one,  as  in  honest 
fashion  they  should,  but  everywhere  scores.  Humphrey 
heard  at  the  gate,  of  Oliver  Dumps,  that  they  went  so 
fast,  it  was  supposed  there  would  soon  be  none  left  to 
tend  the  sick.  Ods  lifelings,  what  an  appetite  thou 
hast  1"  added  she,  as  she  kept  feeding  of  the  child. 
"  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  thou  would'st  eat  up  house 
and  home  kept  thou  this  fashion  at  all  times.  Well,  it's 
all  one.  They  that  are  dead  cannot  help  themselves; 
and  for  the  living  they  must  trust  in  GodJ^  mercy. 
How  now  chuck  ?  What  more  !  Well,  heaven  send 
thee  good  store  of  victuals !  By  my  troth,  methinks 
Master  Combe  shall  deserve  well  of  us  all  our  days.  As 
for  myself,  I  wish  I  could  know  the  service  I  might  do 
his  worship,  I  would  not  spare  my  old  bones,  I  promise 
you.  He  hath  been  a  mean  for  the  preserving  of  our 
lives,  that  be  a  sure  thing  ;  for  it  standeth  to  reason,  had 
we  remained  in  the  town,  we  should  have  been  no  better 
than  loathsome  corpses  long  since." 

Dame  Shakespeare  replied  not ;  but  her  nature  was 
too  forcibly  impressed  with  the  load  of  obligation  she 
lay  under,  not  to  assent  to  all  her  attendant  would  ex- 
press on  that  point. 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  69 

"  And  thou  hast  especial  reason  to  be  thankful  to  him, 
my  young  master,"  continued  the  old  woman  to  her 
charge ;  "  by'r  lady,  thou  hadst  best  make  haste  to  be  a 
man,  and  shew  his  worship  how  grateful  of  heart  thou 
art  for  his  goodness.  And  then  to  put  us  all  in  so  delec- 
table a  place  as  this,"  added  she,  looking  round  the  cham- 
ber in  evident  admiration.  "  O'  my  life,  'tis  a  house  fit 
for  a  prince,  and  it  hath  in  it  every  thing  that  heart  could 
desire.  This  is  his  worship's  own  bed-chamber,  as  I 
have  heard.  Happy  the  woman  who  shall  have  the 
owning  of  it,  say  I !  I  protest  when  I  hear  how  nobly 
he  hath  borne  himself  throughout  the  dreadful  raging  of 
this  doleful  pestilence,  I  am  clean  lost  in  wonder  and  as- 
tonishment at  his  infinite  goodness." 

"  Surely,  nurse,  it  must  be  somewhat  beyond  the  time 
they  usually  come  ?"  here  exclaimed  Dame  Shakspeare  ; 
"I  hope  nought  amiss  hath  happened  to  either,  and  yet 
I  fear.  Alack,  it  would  go  hard  with  me  were  I  to  lose 
my  husband  ;  and  Master  Combe  hath  showed  himself  so 
true  a  friend  I  could  not  but  grieve  at  his  loss.  I  pray 
God,  very  heartily,  both  are  safe." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  the  nurse  very  devoutly.  "  But  keep 
up  a  good  heart,  I  pray  you,  mistress.  I  would  wager 
my  life  on't  no  harm  shall  happen  to  them.  They  must 
needs  be  much  too  useful  to  be  spared  when  such  pitiful 
work  is  going  forward.  But  concerning  of  the  time  of 
their  usual  coming,  I  cannot  think  it  hath  yet  arrived, 
though  mayhap  it  shall  be  found  to  be  no  great  way  off. 
Peradventure,  rest  you  patient  awhile,  you  shall  hear 
Humphrey  give  us  note  of  their  approach  before  long. 
Ha !  my  young  rogue  !  "  continued  she,  addressing  the 
babe,  and  fondling  him  very  prettily,  upon  finding  he 
would  take  no  more  of  her  food.  "  I  warrant  me  now 
thou  hast  had  a  famous  meal !  Art  not  ashamed  to  de- 
vour such  monstrous  quantities,  when  victual  is  so  scarce 
to  be  had  ?  O'  my  conscience,  he  laughed  in  my  very 
face  !  By  your  patience,  mistress,  this  son  of  yours  is  no 
other  than  a  very  horrible  young  reprobate,  for  he  seem- 


70  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

f 

eth  to  care  for  nought  when  he  hath  all  that  he  standeth 
in  need  of." 

"  Bless  his  dear  heart  !  "  cried  the  much  delighted 
mother,  rousing  up  from  her  melancholy  at  sight  of  her 
babe's  enjoyment.  "  It  glacis  me  more  than  1  can  speak 
to  see  him  looking  so  hearty,  and  in  so  rare  a  humor. 
But  I  must  to  the  casement,  I  am  impatient  of  this  seem- 
ing long  delay  ;  "  and  so  saying  she  suddenly  rose  from 
her  seat,  and  made  for  the  window,  a  broad  casement 
which  looked  out  over  the  porch,  for  the  chamber  was 
above  the  ground-floor,  and  opening  it  she  leaned  out  to 
watch  for  her  husband.  The  night  had  set  in,  though 
it  was  scarce  eight  of  theiclock  ;  but  being  the  latter  end 
of  October  that  was  no  marvel.  Dark  clouds  were  float- 
ing heavily  in  the  sky,  and  the  trees,  though  half  denud- 
ed of  their  foliage,  made  a  famous  rustling  as  the  wind 
came  sweeping  among  their  branches.  Every  thing 
looked  indistinct  and  shadowy  within  the  range  of  sight, 
and  beyond,  all  seemed  as  though  closely  wrapt  up  in  a 
shroud.  Certes,  to  one  of  Dame  Shakspeare's  disposi- 
tion, the  prospect  around  must  have  appeared  wonderful 
melancholy,  and  it  gave  a  chill  to  her  heart  that  filled  her 
with  monstrous  disquietude.  All  was  in  perfect  silence 
and  solitude,  save  down  below,  where  Humphrey,  armed 
with  a  rusty  harquebus,  was  marching  to  and  fro  within 
the  gate,  of  which  station  he  was  exceeding  proud,  as 
was  manifest  ;  for,  immediately  he  caught  sight  of  his 
mistress  at  the  casement,  he  held  his  piece  firm  to  his 
side,  made  himself  look  as  tall  as  he  might,  and  with  a 
terrible  valorous  countenance,  as  he  supposed,  continued 
to  walk  backwards  and  forwards  at  his  post. 

"  Hast  seen  any  thing,  Humphrey  ?  "  inquired  Dame 
Shakspeare. 

"  Yes,  mistress,  an'  it  please  you,"  replied  he,  stopping 
short  in  his  walk,  and  holding  of  himself  as  upright  as  any 
dart.  "  I  have  seen  old  Gammer  Lambswool's  two 
sandy  colored  pigs  making  for  home  with  all  the  speed 
of  foot  they  were  master  of." 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  71 

"Psha!  hast  seen  any  thing  of  thy  master?  "  added 
the  good  dame. 

"  No,  mistress,"   answered  he. 

"  Hast  seen  ought  of  Master  Combe  ?  " 

"  No,  mistress." 

Hearing  no  further  questioning,  Humphrey  continued 
his  marching  ;  and  his  mistress,  in  no  way  satisfied  with 
his  intelligence,  remained  at  the  casement  silent  and  ab- 
stracted. She  could  hear  nurse  Cicely  walking  up  and 
down  the  chamber,  evidently  by  her  speech  and  occa- 
sional humming,  striving  to  get  the  boy  into  a  sleep. 
Presently,  in  a  shrill  trembling  voice,  yet  not  without 
some  spice  of  tune  in  it,  the  old  woman  commenced  sing- 
ing of  the  following  words  : 

NURSE    CICELY'S    LULLABY. 

"  Hush  thee,  sweet  babe  !     Eve's  curtains  o'er  us  hover, 
In  tuneless  lullabies  low  moans  the  wind  ; 

And  the  tired  day  (hid  in  his  cloak's  dark  cover) 

Pilowed  on  Earth's  green  lap  hath  now  reclined. 
Hush  thee,  sweet  babe  ! 

Silent  since  noon  hath  been  the  joyful  hymning, 

Which,  since  the  blushing  morn,  thrilled  all  the  air; 

In  the  clear  stream  no  unseen  hand  is  limning 
Delicate  blossoms  coyly  glancing  there. 
Hush  thee,  sweet  babe  ! 

Lo  !  to  invite  thee  to  the  land  of  slumber, 

The  choicest  beauties  of  the  daintiest  bowers 

Call  to  the  lovingest  of  all  their  number, — 

'  Close  thy  fair  eyes  and  join  thy  sister  flowers.' 
Hush  thee,  sweet  babe  !  " 

These  verses  sounded  more  like  unto  the  song  of  some 
fairy  than  an  old  nurse's  ditty,  as  Dame  Shakspeare 
thought ;  but  there  was  no  denying  it  was  of  the  old 
woman's  singing. 

"  Well,  never  saw  I  the  like  !  "  exclaimed  picely,  in 
tones  of  such  monstrous  astonishment  as  drew  the  moth- 
er's attention  in  an  instant.  "  Instead  of  getting  into  a 
good  sound  sleep  as  I  was  assured  thou  hadst  fallen  into, 
I  know  not  how  long  since,  here  art  thou  as  wide  awake 
as  am  I,  and  listening  to  my  poor  singing  with  a  look  as 


72  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

if  thy  very  heart  was  in  it."  Certes,  it  was  as  the  nurse 
had  said.  The  babe  lay  in  her  arms,  seeming  in  such 
strange  wonder  and  delights  as  surely  no  babe  ever 
showed  before.  Even  Dame  Shakspeare  marveled  some- 
what to  note  the  amazed  smiling  aspect  of  her  young 
son. 

"By  my  fay!"  continued  the  old  woman,  <; if  this 
babe  come  not  to  be  some  great  master  of  music,  I  am 
hugely  mistaken  in  him.  I  remember  me  now,  this  is 
the  first  time  I  have  chanced  to  sins  in  his  hearing. — 
Marry,  an'  if  his  worship  be  so  taken  with  my  music,  I 
warrant  me  he  shalt  have  a  rare  plenty  of  it,  for  I  have 
as  famous  a  store  of  ballads  as  any  woman  in  Warwick- 
shire." 

"  I  doubt  not  they  will  be  well  liked  of  him,  judging 
of  the  manner  lie  hath  taken  the  first  he  hath  heard," 
observed  his  mother. 

At  this  moment  there  was  heard  such  horrible  un- 
natural screaming  and  strange  uproar,  that  made  Dame 
Shakspeare,  more  full  of  misgiving  than  ever,  rush  back 
to  the  casement  with  as  much  speed  as  she  could  use. 
The  first  object  that  met  her  eye  was  no  other  than  Hum- 
phrey, half  lying  on  the  ground,  supporting  himself  with 
one  arm,  and  one  leg  doubled  under  him,  and  with  the 
other  hand  holding  in  his  trembling  grasp  the  harquebus 
he  made  so  brave  a  show  with  a  few  minutes  since.  He 
was  shaking  in  every  limb  ;  his  hat  had  fallen  off,  leav- 
ing his  face  the  more  visible,  which  bore  an  aspect  of  the 
completest  fright  ever  seen.  His  eyes  were  starting  for- 
ward, his  cheeks  pale,  and  his  mouth  half  open,  one  jaw 
knocking  against  the  other  as  hard  as  they  could.  Turn- 
ing her  gaze  in  the  direction  in  which  the  boy  was  star- 
ing, as  if  ^incapable  of  moving  away  his  eyes,  though  for 
a  single  instant,  she  saw  a  sight  the  horribleness  of  which 
made  her  scream  outright.  It  was  a  spectral  figure  at 
the  gate,  with  long  bare  arms  and  legs,  all  livid  and 
ghastly,  and  a  face  that  seemed  more  terrible  to  look  on 
than  death  itself.     The  pestilence  in  its  worst  stage  was 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  73 

apparent  in  every  feature;  and  the  glaring  eye,  blue  skin, 
gaunt  jaws,  and  ragged  beard,  were  more  distinguishable 
for  the  sheet  in  which  the  head  and  part  of  the  body 
were  wrapped.  He  shook  the  iron  bars  of  the  gate  as 
if  he  would  have  them  down,  and  tried  to  climb  them, 
all  the  whilst  giving  out  such  piercing  shrieks  as  made 
the  blood  run  cold  to  hear. 

"Jesu  preserve  the  child!"  exclaimed  the  terrified 
mother. 

"  Flames  and  the  rack  !  "  shouted  a  hollow  sepulchral 
voice,  as  he  shook  the  iron  bars  again  and  again.  "  Hell 
rages  in  my  every  vein  !  Fires  eat  into  my  heat !  O 
mercy!"  Then  arose  another  scream  more  wild  and 
piercing  than  any  that  had  preceded  it,  and  the  poor 
wretch  flung  his  head  about,  and  twisted  his  limb?,  as  if 
in  the  horriblest  torture. 

"Drive  him  away,  good  Humphrey  !"  cried  Dame 
Shakspeare,  the  sense  of  her  child's  danger  overcoming 
all  other  feelings  in  her. 

"  Ye — ye — ye — yes,  mistress  !  "  answered  Humphrey 
as  plainly  as  his  fright  would  allow  him,  but  moved  he 
never  an  inch. 

"  Oh,  the  good  God  !  "  shrieked  the  diseased  man  in 
his  phrenzy.  "  Oh,  the  Infinite  Great  One!  This  is 
the  day  of  doom  !  Hide — hide,  ye  wicked  ! — the  min- 
isters of  judgment  compass  ye  all  about.  There  is  no 
'scape  from  the  consuming  fire.  It  scorches  my  flesh — 
it  burnetii  my  bones  to  ashes.  Ah  !  "  and  again  the 
same  horrible  yell  pierced  the  air  as  he  writhed  under 
his  pains. 

"Humphrey,  I  say,  drive  him  away,  I  prithee!" 
cried  the  frightened  mother  more  earnestly  than  at  first. 
"  Alack  !  if  he  should  break  in  now  we  are  clean  lost!" 

"  Ye — ye — yes,  mistress,"  muttered  Humphrey,  but 
he  sought  not  to  move  either  his  eyes  from  the  man,  or 
his  limbs  from  the  ground.  However,  it  did  so  fall  out, 
that  the  terrible  cause  of  all  their  fear,  after  spending  of 
his  strength  in  vainly  essaying  to  shake  down  the  gates, 

vol.  i.  7 


74  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

screaming  and  calling  after  the  fashion  that  hath  been 
told,  in  the  height  of  his  frenzy  fell  from  the  place  he 
had  climbed  to  down  to  the  hard  ground  within  the  walls, 
where,  after  twisting  himself  about  for  some  few  seconds 
in  the  horriblest  contortions,  and  shrieking  as  if  in  the 
last  agonies,  he  finally  lay  stiff,  silent,  and  manifestly 
dead. 

"  Humphrey  !  Humphrey !  get  you  in  doors  this  in- 
stant," exclaimed  his  mistress  in  a  manner  as  though  she 
scarce  knew  what  she  said.  Then  wringing  of  her  hands 
exceeding  pitifully,  exclaimed  in  a  lower  voice,  "  Woe  is 
me !  the  plague  will  be  upon  us,  and  no  remedy." 

Dame  Shakspeare  had  called  to  Humphrey  many 
times,  and  though  he  answered  her  at  first,  he  paid  but 
small  attention  to  her  commands ;  but  when  the  frightful 
object  got  within  the  walls,  he  did  nought  but  keep  re- 
garding of  his  motions  with  an  uneasy  stare,  as  if  his 
wits  had  clean  gone  ;  and  now  his  mistress  again  called 
to  him,  he  moved  not,  nor  spoke  a  word,  nor  gave  any 
sign,  save  the  loud  chattering  of  his  teeth,  that  he  was 
one  of  the  living.  Presently  there  was  heard  the  sound 
as  of  sundry  persons,  running,  and  ere  any  very  long 
time  there  appeared  at  the  gate  divers  of  the  town  watch 
and  others,  with  torches  and  lanterns,  armed  with  long 
staves  and  other  weapons. 

"  Get  you  in,  dame,  I  pray  you,  and  shut  to  the  case- 
ment," cried  Master  Combe  from  among  them. 

"  In  with  you,  in  God's  name,  or  you  are  lost !  "  al- 
most at  the  same  moment  of  time  shouted  John  Shak- 
speare ;  and  his  wife,  with  a  hurried  ejaculation  of  her 
great  comfort  at  hearing  of  their  voices,  did  as  she  was 
bid,  and  sunk  into  a  chair  more  dead  than  alive. 

"  I  would  rather  have  given  a  thousand  pounds  than 
he  should  have  escaped,"  said  Master  Combe.  "  I  pray 
God  no  harm  come  of  it  to  your  sweet  wife  and  children." 

"  I  cannot  help  but  fear,  the  peril  is  so  great,"  replied 
John  Shakspeare  in  a  somewhat  desponding  tone. 

"  Lord  ha'  mercy  upon  us !  "  muttered  a  voice  not  far 
off  of  them. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  75 

"  As  I  live,  'tis  my  knave  Humphrey  !  "  exclaimed 
his  master,  looking  through  the  bars  of  the  gate.  "  Why 
how  now  !  what  art  doing  there  ?  Get  thee  in  by  the 
back  way  on  the  instant,  and  stir  not  while  we  are  gone." 

"La,  what,  be  that  you,  master,  indeed  ?  "  cried  out 
Humphrey  with  a  sort  of  foolish  joy,  as  he  recognized 
the  voice. 

"  Get  thee  in,  I  tell  thee !  "  replied  the  other  sharply, 
and  Humphrey  not  caring  to  take  another  look  at  the 
dead  man,  walked  himself  off,  and  soon  disappeared  be- 
hind the  house  ;  whereupon  his  master  with  a  key  he 
had,  opened  the  gate,  and  by  the  directions  of  Master 
Combe,  the  corpse  was  presently  placed  upon  a  hand- 
barrow  and  carried  away  by  the  watchmen  ;  then  a  fire 
of  dry  sticks  was  made  on  the  spot  where  it  had  fallen, 
in  which  certain  aromatics  were  flung,  which  made  a 
cloud  of  smoke  that  filled  the  air  all  round  about  for  a 
great  space.  After  it  had  burned  some  time,  John  Shak- 
speare  called  to  his  wife  that  she  might  ope  the  casement, 
and  she  waited  no  second  calling.  Then  passed  they 
nigh  upon  an  hour  in  very  comfortable  discourse  one  with 
another,  as  if  it  was  a  customary  thing  of  them,  she  lean- 
ing out  of  the  chamber,  and  her  husband  and  worthy 
Master  Cornbe  standing  upon  the  lawn  beneath,  closely 
wrapped  up  in  long  cloaks,  and  carrying  lighted  torches 
in  their  hands. 

11 1  cannot  express  to  you  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  of 
the  abating  of  the  pestilence,"  said  Dame  Shakspeare. 
"  'Tis  the  pleasantest  news  I  have  heard  this  many  a  day. 
But   think  you  it  may  be  relied  on  ?  " 

"  I  have  taken  the  very  surest  means  of  proving  its 
perfect  credibleness,"  answered  Master  Combe. 

"  Not  so  many  have  died  of  it  to-day  by  twenty  as 
died  yesterday,"  added  her  husband  ;  "and  yesterday  we 
buried  ten  less  than  the  day  before." 

"  I  am  infinitely  thankful  !  "  exclaimed  she  in  a  fa- 
mous   cheerfulness.     "  I   heartily  pray   it   may   contin- 


76  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  So  do  we  all,  sweet  dame,"  answered  Master  Combe. 
"And  I  have  good  assurance,  now  we  are  blessed  with 
the  prayers  of  one  so  worthy,  we  cannot  help  but  speed 
in  our  endeavors.  But  the  night  wears  on  apace.  I 
pray  you  pardon  me  for  hurrying  away  your  husband. 
O'  my  life  I  would  not  do  it,  only  we  have  th»4  to  look 
to  this  night,  which  cannot  be  done  without  him." 

"  Ay,  Dame,  we  must  be  going,"  added  her  husband. 
"  So  a  good  sweet  rest  to  thee,  and  kiss  my  boy  lovingly 
for  me,  I  prithee." 

"That  will  I  dear  heart,  without  fail,"  answered  she. 
"  And  a  fair  good  night  to  you  both,  and  may  God  above 
preserve  you  in  all  perils." 

"  Good  night,  sweet  dame,  and  infinite  thanks  for  your 
.kind  wishes,"  said  Master  Combe  ;  and  then  he  and  his 
associated  left  the  house,  locking  the  gales  after  them  ; 
and  proceeded  straight  to  the  town. 

Now  was  there  a  wonderful  difference  in  this  town  of 
Stratford  to  what  it  had  been  only  a  few  months  since, 
when  I  sought  the  picturing  of  it;  for  in  place  of  all 
the  pleasant  riot  of  children  and  general  gossiping  of 
neighbors,  all  was  dumb  as  a  churchyard  ;  save  at  inter- 
vals, the  wail  of  the  sorrowful  or  the  shriek  of  the  dying 
disturbed  the  awful  stillness.  Scarce  a  living  creature 
was  to  be  seen  excepting  the  watchman  keeping  guard, 
to  whom  divers  of  the  unhappy  burgesses  would  talk  to 
out  of  their  windows,  inquiring  who  of  their  friends  were 
yet  spared,  or  one  or  two  having  been  close  prisoners  in 
their  own  houses,  would  creep  stealthily  along  the  street 
to  breathe  the  fresher  air,  looking  about  them  suspicious- 
ly and  in  great  dread,  and  ready  to  fly  at  any  unusual 
sound  ;  and  instead  of  the  sun  throwing  its  warm  beams 
upon  the  house-tops  and  other  open  places,  there  was  a 
sullen  darkness  everywhere  about,  except  just  where  one 
carried  a  torch  or  a  lantern  with  him,  which  made  a  faint 
red  light  thereabouts,  or  when  the  moon  burst  out  of  the 
deep  black  clouds,  and  disclosed  to  view  the  deserted 
streets  grown  over  with  patches  of  rank  grass;  the  mel- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  77 

ancholy  houses, — many  untenanted  because  of  the  pes- 
tilence having  spared  none  there,  —  divers  with  a  red 
cross  upon  their  doors  in  evidence  that  the  plague  had 
there  found  a  victim,  and  the  rest  with  doors  and  win- 
dows carefully  barred  and  lights  streaming  through  the 
closed  shutters — a  dad  sicm  that  there  at  least  none  had 

o  o 

yet  fallen. 

John  Shakspeare  and  Master  Combe,  closely  wrap- 
ped in  their  cloaks,  entered  the  principal  street  just  as 
the  moon  made  a  clear  path  for  herself  in  the  sky,  and 
threw  such  a  light  as  made  them  distinguish  objects  for 
the  time  almost  as  well  as  in  broad  day.  The  first  per- 
son they  met  was  no  other  than  Oliver  Dumps,  armed 
with  a  bill,  and  wearing  a  face  so  woe-begone  as  was 
pitiful  to  look  on. 

"  Well,  Oliver,  what  news  ?  "  inquired  Master  Combe. 

"  News  !  "  exclaimed  the  constable  in  his  dolefuilest 
manner.  "  Prithee  what  news  canst  expect  to  hear  at 
such  a  miserable  time  ?  As  I  am  a  Christian  man,  and 
a  sinful,  I  am  nigh  worn  out  with  melancholy.  What  a 
world  is  this  !  Alack,  what  will  become  of  us  ?  I  see 
no  end  to  the  evil  whereof  this  town  is  so  full.  We  are 
all  villainy — very  villainy,  as  I  am  a  Christian  man." 

aWhy,  what  hath  happened,  good  Oliver  ?"  asked 
John  Shakspeare. 

n  Wickedness  hath  happened,"  replied  Oliver  Dumps  ; 
"  the  very  shamefullest  wickedness  ever  I  came  anigh. 
Well  may  we  be  visited  by  plagues.  Our  natures  are 
vile.  We  run  after  iniquity  as  a  curtail  dog  runs  i'  the 
wheel."  Then,  being  further  pressed  by  Master  Combe 
to  come  to  the  point,  he  added,  "  First,  there  is  Sir  Na- 
thaniel, who  will  not  be  moved  to  do  any  good  office  for 
the  sick  ;  and  Master  Buzzard,  who,  setteth  his  dogs  at 
me,  should  I  venture  to  ask  of  him  to  assist  his  poor 
neighbors.  Then  Stripes  is  ever  getting  of  money  from 
a  parcel  of  ignorant,  wretched  folk,  to  conjure  the  pesti- 
lence away  from  their  houses ;  added  to  which,  no  longer 
ago  than  scarce  the  half  of  an  hour,  I  came  upon  Simon 

vol.  i.  7* 


78  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

Lumpfish  and  Jonathan  Swiggle,  t\vooft!)e  town  watch, 
in  the  kitchen  of  an  empty  dwelling,  making  use  of  a 
barrel  of  strong  beer  without  any  color  of  warrant,  by 
each  laying  of  his  length  on  the  floor,  and  putting  of  his 
mouth  to  the  bung-hole." 

"  They  shall  be  looked  to,"  observed  Master  Combe  ; 
"  but  come  you  with  us,  good  Oliver,  perchance  we  may 
need  your  assistance."  Then,  turning  to  one  of  the 
watch,  who  was  stationed  at  a  door-way,  he  inquired  how 
things  went  in  his  ward. 

"  One  hath  died  within  this  hour  over  at  Peter  Gim- 
btet's,  an'  it  please  your  worship,"  answered  the  man  re- 
spectfully ;  "  and  there  are  two  sick  hero  at  'Dame  Hol- 
lowayV.  They  do  say  Morris  Greenfinch  be  like  to  re- 
cover;  and  in  some  houses  hereabouts,  where  the  plague 
hath  been,  they  have  taken  it  so  kindly  that  it  hath 
scarce  been   felt." 

After  bidding  of  him  keep  strict  watch,  they  continued 
their  walk  ;  and  presently  heard  a  voice  of  one  calling 
across  the  way  to  his  neighbor  opposite. 

"  How  goeth  all  with  you  ?  " 

"  We  are  all  well,  thanks  be  to  God  !  neighbor  Malm- 
sey. And  how  fareth  your  bed-fellow?"  replied  one 
from  a  casement  over  against  him. 

"Bravely,  neighbor  Dowlas,  I  thank  you,"  said  his 
brother  alderman  ;  "  they  do  say  there  is  some  show  of 
the  pestilence  abating  ;  I  would  it  were  true,  else  shall 
we  be  all  ruined  for  a  surety.  I  have  not  so  much  as 
sold  a  pint  of  wine  for  the  last  week  past." 

"Nor  I  a  yard  of  cloth,  for  a  month,"  added  the 
other.  "  I  pray  God,  the  survivors  may  have  the  de- 
cency to  go  into  mourning  for  their  lost  relations." 

"  And  so  your  good  dame  is  well,  neighbor?"  asked 
Alderman  Malmsey. 

"  As  well  as  heart  could  wish,"  replied  Alderman 
Dowlas. 

"Commend  me  to  her,  I  pray  you,"  said  the  other; 
and  then,  with   a  "  good  night,"    each  closed    his   case- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  79 

ment.  Upon  proceeding  a  little  further  on,  the  party 
were  stopped  by  the  melodious  sweet  sound  of  several 
voices,  intent  upon  the  singing  of  some  holy  hymn. 
Perchance,  it  might  have  proceeded  from  some  pious 
family  ;  for  in  the  quiet  night,  the  ear  could  plainly 
enough  distinguish  the  full  deep  bass  of  the  father,  join- 
ing with  the  clear  sweet  trebles  of  his  wife  and  children. 
And  exceeding  touching  it  was  at  such  a  time  to  hear 
such  proper  singing;  indeed,  so  moved  were  the  three 
listeners,  that  they  sought  not  to  leave  the  spot  till  it  waa 
ended. 

"  That  be  David  Hurdle's  voice,  I  will  be  bound  for 
it,"  exclaimed  the  Constable.  "  Indeed,  it-  be  well 
known  he  hath,  during  the  raging  of  the  pestilence, 
spent  best  part  of  the  day  in  praying  with  his  family, 
and  in  the  singing  of  godly  hymns.  He  is  a  poor  man 
— some  call  him  a  Puritan,  but  1  do  believe  him  to  be  as 
honest  good  Christian  man  as  any  in  this  town,  be  they 
rich  or  poor,  gentle  or  simple.  But  what  villainous  rude 
uproar  is  this,  my  masters  !  that  treadeth  so  close  on  the 
heels   of  sue!)  exquisite  music?" 

I' faith,  Oliver  IJumps  had  good  cause  to  cry  out  as  he 
did  ;  for  all  at  once,  they  were  startled  by  a  number  of 
most  unmannerly  voices,  shouting  in  very  boisterous  fash- 
ion such  profane  words  as  these  : — 

"  If  we  boast  not  a  fire, 

That  is  just  our  desire — 
What  then  ?     Wo  must  needs  burn  the  bellows  ; 

And  if  here  there's  a  man 

That  hath  nought  in  his  can  — 
What   then  ?     lie's  the  prince  of  good  fellows." 

"Odds,  my  life!"  exclaimed  a  voice  that  was  heard, 
amid  the  din  of  laughing  and  shouting,  and  other  lewd 
behavior.  "  Odds,  my  life,  that  is  as  exquisite  a  catch  as 
ever  1  heard.  Methinks,  'tis  the  very  movinest,  mirth- 
fullest  a .     What  sayest  Ticklebreech  ?" 

"  Exactly  so,  an'  it  pleas?  your  reverence,"  replied 
the  voice  of  the  scoholmaster,  in  a  tone  somewhat  husky. 


80  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  By'r  lady  master  parson,"  said  another,  "methinks 
'tis  of  that  superlative  exquisiteness  'twould  tickle — (a 
hiccup)  the  ribs  of  a  tombstone." 

Master  Combe,  and  his  companions,  peeped  through 
the  crevices  of  the  shutters,  and  beheld  Sir  Nathaniel 
seated  at  the  head  of  a  table  covered  with  drinking  ves- 
sels, with  Stripes  opposite  him,  and  nigh  upon  a  score  of 
low  idle  disorderly  vagabonds  sitting  round  making  mer- 
ry, but  with  monstrous  little  assurance  of  sobriety  in  their 
looks. 

"  Lord  !  Lord  !  an'  these  fellows  be  not  heathens,  I 
marvel  what  they  shall  rightly  be  called,"  said  the  scan- 
dalized constable. 

"  It  grieves  me  to  see  Sir  Nathaniel  so  readily  accom- 
modate himself  to  such  discreditableness,"  observed 
John  Shakspeare. 

"  'Slight !  "  exclaimed  Master  Combe,  whose  nature 
was  vexed  to  behold  such  a  scene  with  such  actors  in  it ; 
"  he  is  a  very  hog,  that  will  swill  any  wash  that  is  given 
him,  let  it  be  where  it  may." 

The  ringing  of  a  large  hand-bell  now  attracted  their 
attention  elsewhere ;  and  looking  along  the  street,  they 
observed  a  cart  slowly  proceeding  towards  them,  accom- 
panied by  two  or  three  stout  fellows,  some  carrying 
torches,  and  others  armed  with  bills.  It  stopped  at  a 
house  where  was  a  red  cross  on  the  door,  at  which  hav- 
ing knocked,  and  the  door  opening,  two  stepped  in,  and 
presently  returned,  bearing  of  a  heavy  burthen  betwixt 
them,  with  the  which  they  ascended  a  short  ladder,  and, 
without  any  word  spoke,  cast  into  the  cart.  Then,  ring- 
ing of  the  bell  again  they  continued  their  way,  till  some 
door  opening  noislessly,  they  stopped,  entered,  and  with 
the  same  dreadful  silence  carried  out,  what  on  nearer  ap- 
proach, proved  to  be  a  corpse,  which  was  added  to  the 
rest  they  had,  in  the  manner  that  hath  been  described. 

"  Hast  taken  msny  this  round  ?"  asked  Master  Combe, 
of  one  of  the  watchmen  walking  in  front  of  the  horse. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  81 

"  No,  your  worship,  God  be  thanked,"  replied  the 
man. 

"  Hast  many  more  to  take  ?"  asked  John  Shak- 
speare. 

"  1  expect  not,  master,"  said  the  other.  Indeed,  from 
all  I  have  witnessed  and  can  get  knowledge  of,  it  seero- 
eth  to  me  the  pestilence  be  abating  wonderfully." 

"  God  send  it  may  come  to  a  speedy  ending,"  ex- 
claimed Oliver  Dumps,  with  some  earnestness  ;  It  rnak- 
eth  me  clean  out  at  heart  when  I  think  of  what  ravage 
it  hath  made." 

The  three  now  walked  at  the  horse's  head,  convers- 
ing concerning  of  who  had  died,  and  who  were  sick, 
and  the  like  matters,  stopping  when  the  cart  stopped, 
and  going  on  when  it  proceeded  ;  but  always  keeping 
before  the  horse,  because  of  the  wind  blowing  from  that 
direction.  At  one  house,  the  men  remained  longer  than 
was  usual,  and  the  door  being  open,  there  was  heard  a 
great  cry  of  lamentation  as  of  a  woman  in  terrible  afflic- 
tion. 

"  Ah,  poor  dame,  she  hath  infinite  cause  for  such 
deep  grieving,"  said  the  constable. 

"  Go,  get  you  hence  !  "  cried  one  very  urgently  from 
within  the  house.  "  As  God  shall  judge  me,  he  shall 
not  be  touched." 

"  What  meaneth  this  ?  "  inquired  John  Shakspeare. 

"  I  say  it  shall  not  be,"  continued  the  same  voice.  "  I 
will  die  ere  I  will  let  him  be  borne  away  from  me.  Hast 
hearts?  Hast  feelings?  Dost  know  of  what  stuff  a 
mother's  love  be  made  ?      Away,  villain-." 

11  'Tis  a  most  pitiful  story,"  observed  Master  Combe. 
"  Wondrous  pitiful  !  in  sooth,  she  hath  been  sorely  tried. 
But  I  must  in,  else  in  her  desperation  she  will  allow  of 
nothing  ;  and  mayhap  they  may  be  violent  with  her." 

"What  wouldst  do?"  inquired  John  Shakspeare, 
catching  his  friend  by  the  arm,  as  he  was  making  for  the 
door.     "Surely,  if  there  is  one  dead  here,  you  will  only 


82 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


be  endangering  of  yourself  by  venturing  in,  and  no  good 
come  of  it  to  any." 

"  I  pray  you  think  not  of  it,"  cried  Oliver  Dumps, 
seeming  in  famous  consternation.  "There  hath  more 
died  in  that  house  than  in  any  two  in  the  town." 

"  Fear  nothing ;  I  will  be  back  anon,"  said  Master 
Combe,  as  he  broke  away  and  entered  at  the  open  door. 

"  Alack,  think  not  of  following  him,  I  pray  you,  John 
Shakspeare  ! "  called  out  the  constable,  in  increased 
alarm,  as  he  beheld  the  one  quickly  treading  upon  the 
heels  of  the  other.  "  Well,  never  saw  I  such  wanton 
seeking  of  death.  They  be  lost  men.  'Twill  be  dan- 
gerous to  be  in  their  company  after  this  ;  so  I'll  e'en  have 
none  on't."  And  away  started  he  in  the  direction  of  his 
home.  In  the  mean  while  the  other  two  reached  an  inner 
chamber,  where  was  a  sight  to  see  that  would  have 
melted  any  stone.  On  a  low  bed  there  sat  a  matronly 
woman,  of  decent  appearance,  with  an  aspect  pale  and 
exceeding  careworn,  and  her  eyes  full  of  such  thorough 
anguish  as  is  utterly  impossible  to  be  described  ;  and 
she  held,  folded  in  her  arms,  the  body  of  a  youth  seem- 
ing to  be  dead  of  the  pestilence. 

"  The  last !  "  exclaimed  she,  in  most  moving  tones,  as 
she  fixed  her  tearful  gaze  on  the  discolored  object  in  her 
lap.  "  Husband — children — all  gone,  despite  my  tender 
nursing,  and  constant  hope  this  one  might  be  spared,  and 
now  that — each  followed  the  other,  and  here  am  I — woe 
is  me  ! — widowed,  childless,  and  heart-broken.  Alack, 
'tis  a  cruel  world  !  "  And  thereupon  she  sobbed  in  such 
a  sort  as  could  not  be  seen  of  any  with  dry  eyes. 

"  But  they  shall  never  take  thee  from  me,  my  dear 
boy,"  continued  she.  in  a  like  pitiful  manner.  "  Hereto- 
fore I  have  borne  all  and  flinched  none  ;  but  thou  hast 
been  my  last  stay,  whereon  all  the  love  I  bore  thy  good 
father  and  thy  brave  brothers,  was  heaped  together  ;  and 
losing  thee,  I  lose  my  very  heart  and  soul  ;  so,  quick  or 
dead,  I  will  cling  to  thee  whilst  I  have  life.  Away  !  in- 
satiate wretches  !  "  she  cried,  turning  her  mournful  as- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  83 

pect  upon  the  two  men  ;  "  Hast  not  had  enough  of  me  ? 
Dost  not  see  how  poor  a  case  [  am  in  for  the  lack  of 
what  I  have  been  used  to  ?  Begone  !  "  And  then  she 
hugged  the  lifeless  youth  in  her  arms  as  if  she  would 
part  with  him  on  no  account.  Neither  Master  Combe 
or  John  Shakspeare  felt  as  they  were  complete  masters 
of  themselves  ;  but  they  knew  it  could  not  be  proper 
that  the  dead  should  stay  with  the  living. 

"  Believe  me,  we  sympathize  in  your  great  afflictions 
with  all  our  hearts,  good  dame,"  at  last  observed  the 
former  to  her,  with  that  sweet  courteousness  which  was 
so  natural  to  him.  "  But  I  pray  you,  have  some  pity  on 
yourself,  and  be  resigned  to  that  which  cannot  be  helped." 

"  Ah,  Master  Combe ! "  cried  she,  now  first  observing 
him,  "  I  would  I  could  say  I  am  glad  to  see  you ;  for,  in 
truth,  you  have  been  an  excellent  good  friend  to  me  and 
mine  in  our  greatest  need  ;  but  as  it  seemeth  to  me  my 
heart's  strings  be  so  upon  the  stretch,  'twould  be  but  a 
mockery  to  say  so.  Oh,  the  misery ! "  and  then  she 
bowed  her  head  and  wept  exceedingly.  At  this  Master 
Combe  endeavored  all  he  could  to  give  her  comfort ;  and 
as  his  speech  was  wonderfully  to  the  purpose,  though  at 
first  she  was  deaf  to  all  argument  of  the  sort,  by  degrees 
he  won  her  to  some  show  of  reason. 

"  But  he  shall  not  be  touched  I "  she  exclaimed, 
mournfully,  yet  determinedly.  "  Who  so  proper  to  carry 
him  out  of  the  world  as  she  who  brought  him  in  it  ?  I  will 
have  no  rude  hand  laid  on  his  delicate  limbs.  I  will  to 
the  grave  with  him  myself.  Alack  !  poor  boy,  how  my 
heart  aches  to  look  at  thee  !  "  Then,  carefully  wiping 
off  the  tears  she  had  let  fall  upon  his  face,  she  proceeded 
to  wrap  him  in  a  sheet,  ever  and  anon  giving  of  such 
deep  sobs  as  showed  in  what  extremity  she  was  in.  This 
Master  Combe  sought  not  tojnterrupt;  and  John  Shak- 
speare's  honest  nature  was  so  moved  at  the  scene,  he  had 
no  mind  to  utter  a  word.  Even  the  men,  used  as  they 
must  have  been  to  sights  of  wretchedness,  regarded  not 
what  was  going  on  in  total  indifTerency,  as  was  manifest 


84  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

in  their  aspects.  But  the  movingest  sight  of  all  was  to 
see  that  hapless  mother,  when  she  had  disposed  of  her 
dead  son  as  decently  as  she  could,  hearing  the  heavy 
burthen  in  her  arms  with  a  slow  step,  looking  pale  as  any 
ghost,  and  in  such  terrible  despair  as  can  never  be  con- 
ceived. The  men,  as  they  led  the  way  with  a  lantern, 
were  forced,  more  than  once,  to  draw  the  cuffs  of  their 
jerkins  over  their  eyelids  ;  and  Master  Combe  and  John 
Shakspeare  followed  her,  full  of  pity  for  her  sorrowful 
condition.  She  bore  up  bravely  till  she  came  to  the 
door,  when  the'sight  of  the  dead-cart,  made  visible  by 
the  red  glare  of  the  torches,  came  upon  her  with  such  a 
suddenness,  that  she  swooned  away,  and  would  have 
fallen  on  the  ground,  had  not  Master  Combe  ran  quickly 
and  caught  her  in  his  arms.  Then,  by  his  direction, 
her  dead  son  was  placed  with  the  other  corpses,  and  she 
carried  back  to  the  room  she  had  left  ;  and  after  seeing 
she  had  proper  attendance,  he  and  John  Shakspeare  pro- 
ceeded with  the  watchman  and  others  that  had  the  care 
of  the  cart,  calling  nowhere  else  as  they  went  in  so  dole- 
ful a  humor  that  they  spoke  never  a  word  all  the  way. 
They  came  to  a  field  outside  of  the  town,  where  was  a 
great  hole  dug,  and  a  large  mound  of  fresh  earth  at  the 
side  of  it.  At  this  time,  some  of  the  men  took  in  their 
hands  mattocks  which  were  stuck  in  the  soil,  others 
backed  the  cart  so  that  the  end  of  it  should  come  as  nigh 
ns  possible  to  the  pit,  and  the  rest  held  torches  that  the 
others  might  see  the  better.  Scarce  any  spoke  save 
Master  Combe,  who,  in  a  low  tone,  gave  such  orders  as 
were  needed.  Presently  the  cart  was  tilted,  and  in  the 
next  moment  the  bodies  of  those  dead  of  the  pestilence 
swept  into  the  rude  grave  prepared  for  them. 

"  By  God's  body,  I  heard  a  groan  !"  cried  John  Shak- 
speare, with  a  famous  vehemence.  In  an  instant  there 
was  so  dead  a  silence  you  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop. 
What  had  been  said  was  true  enough,  for  ere  another 
minute  had  elapsed,  all  there  distinctly  heard  a  sound  of 
groaning  come  from   the  pit.     Each  of  the  men  looked 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  b5 

at  his  neighbor  in  silent  terror,  and  speedily  as  they  might 
brought  their  torches  to*  throw  as  much  light  as  they 
could  into  the  pit's  mouth. 

"Alack!  I  fear  we  have  buried  the  living  with  the 
dead  !  "  exclaimed  Master  Combe,  evidently  in  a  mon- 
strous perplexity.  Every  eye  was  strained  to  note  if 
any  sign  of  life  was  visible  amongst  the  mass  below. 
What  a  sight  was  there  presented  to  the  horror-struck 
gazers !  Arms  and  legs  and  upturned  faces  that  had 
burst  from  their  frail  coverings,  all  discolored  and  ghast- 
ly, looking  more  hideous  than  can  be  conceived. 

"  As  I  live,  something  moveth  in  this  corner  !  "  cried 
John  Shakspeare. 

"  A  light  here,  ho  !  "  shouted  Master  Combe,  in  a 
voice  that  brought  every  torch  to  the  spot  ere  the  words 
had  scarce  been  uttered  ;  and  all  were  breathless  with 
expectation.  To  the  extreme  consternation  of  every 
one  there,  Master  Combe  suddenly  seized  a  torch  out  of 
the  hands  of  one  of  the  watch  who  was  nighest  to  him, 
and  leaped  in  amongst  those  foul  bodies,  close  upon  the 
spot  pointed  out  by  John  Shakspeare. 

"  Help  all,  if  ye  be  Christian  men  !  "  cried  Master 
Combe,  as  if  he  was  exceeding  moved,  whilst  those 
above  were  gazing  down  upon  him,  bewildered  with 
very  fear.  "  Help,  I  pray  you  !  for  here  is  the  widow's 
son  alive  yet  ;  and  if  care  be  used  without  loss  of  time, 
perchance  we  shall  have  such  good  fortune  as  to  restore 
him  to  her  to  be  her  comfort  all  her  days." 

Methinks  there  needs  no  telling  of  what  alacrity  was 
used  to  get  the  youth  out  of  the  pit  with  all  speed,  every 
one  forgetting  of  his  danger  in  the  excitement  of  the 
case.  Suffice  it  to  say,  he  was  rescued  from  his  expected 
grave  before  he  had  any  consciousness  of  being  there, 
and  that  such  treatment  was  used  as  soon  turned  to  his 
profit  ;  for  he  recovered,  and  grew  to  be  hale  soon.  Of 
the  infinite  joy  of  the  late  bereaved  mother,  when  that 
her  dead  son  was  restored  alive  to  her  loving  arms,  shall 
T  not  attempt  to  describe,  for  to  my  thinking,  it  is  be- 
yond the  extremest  cunning  of  the  pen. 

vol.  i.  8 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Weep  not,  my  wanton,  smile  upon  my  knee  ; 
When  thou  art  old  there's  grief  enough  for  thee. 

Greene. 

O  flatterer  false,  thou  traitor  born, 
What  mischief  more  might  thou  devise 
Than  thy  dear  friend  to  have  in  scorn, 
And  him  to  wound  in  sundry  wise? 
Which  still  a  friend  pretends  to  be, 
And  art  not  so  by  proof  I  see. 
Fie,  fie  upon  such  treachery  ! 

William  Hunnis.  (Paradise  of  Daintie  Devises.) 

Who  will  not  judge  him  worthy  to  be  robbed, 
That  sets  his  doors  wide  open  to  a  thief, 
And  shows  the  felon  where  his  treasure  lies  ? 

Ben  Jonson.     (Every  Man  in  his  Humor.) 

Time  passed,  and  with  it  passed  away  all  sign  of  the 
dreadful  scourge  that  had  fallen  so  heavily  on  the  good 
town  of  Stratford.  So  out  of  mind  was  it,  that  the  hon- 
est burgesses  scarce  ever  talked  of  the  subject,  save  per- 
adventure  some  long  winter's  eve,  when  tales  were  going 
round  the  chimney  corner,  some  one  or  another  would 
vary  the  common  gossiping  of  ghosts  and  witches,  fairies 
and  such  like,  with  a  story  of  the  fearful  plague,  the 
which  never  failed  to  make  the  hearers,  ere  they  entered 
their  beds,  down  on  their  marrQw-bones,  and  very  heartr 
ily  thank  God  they  had  escaped  such  imminent  terrible 
danger.  Everything  was  going  on  just  in  the  old  pleas- 
ant way. 

John  Shakspeare  had  been  made  an  alderman  of,  and 
was  now  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  high  bailiff,  being 
also  in  a  fair  way  of  business,  and  in  excellent  repute,  for 
his  thorough  honesty,  among  his  fellow  burgesses  ;  nor 
was  it  forgotten  of  them  the  good  part  he  played  with 
Master  Combe  in   the  time  of  the  pestilence.     Of  these, 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  87 

neither  had  suffered  by  the  manifold  dangers  in  which 
they  had  oft  ventured  ;  nor  had  Dame  Shakspeare,  or  her 
family  either,  notwithstanding  of  the  frights  he  had  been  put 
to.  As  for  her  sweet  son  William,  he  grew  to  be  as  hand- 
some and  well  behaved  a  child  as  ever  lived  in  the  world, 
and  the  admiration  of  all  who  could  get  sight  of  him.  Con- 
cerning of  his  intelligence  above  all  other  children  that 
ever  lived,  nurse  Cicely  gave  such  marvelous  accounts, 
that  he  must  needs  have  been  a  prodigy  ere  he  was  in 
short  coats.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  can  be  no  manner 
of  doubt  he  gave,  at  an  exceeding  early  age,  many  signs 
of  excellence,  and  of  aptitude  for  such  learning  as  the 
inquisitive  young  mind  is  ever  most  intent  upon. 

Once  when  John  Shakspeare,  with  Humphrey  and 
others  who  assisted  him  in  his  business,  were  laboring 
hard  in  weighing  and  sorting  and  packing  certain  tods  of 
wool,  the  good  dame  was  in  her  chamber  seated,  plying 
of  her  needle  famously,  and  on  the  floor  just  at  her  feet 
was  her  young  son,  having  by  him  certain  toys  such  as 
children  commonly  find  some  pretty  pastime  in.  Some- 
times he  would  seem  monstrous  busy  diverting  of  him- 
self with  these  trifles,  prattling  to  himself  all  the  whilst; 
anon  he  would  leave  off,  and  lifting  up  his  face,  would 
ask  some  question  of  his  mother,  the  which  if  she  an- 
swered not,  be  sure  he  would  importune  her  with  infinite 
earnestness  till  she  did.  Close  at  hand  there  was  a  spin- 
ning-wheel;  on  the  wainscot  were  two  or  three  samplers, 
containing  divers  fine  texts  of  scripture,  with  flowers 
worked  round  the  border,  doubtless  of  the  good  dame's 
own  working.  On  a  square  table  of  oak  was  a  basket 
with  threads  and  tapes  and  the  like  in  it ;  beside  it  was 
some  cloth  of  a  frolic  green,  of  which  she  appeared  to  be 
making  a  new  frock  for  the  boy,  with  such  pretty  fantasy 
of  hers  in  the  fashioning  of  it,  as  she  thought  would  be- 
come  him  most.  The  casement,  which  looked  out  into 
the  garden,  being  unclosed,  there  was  upon  the  ledge  a 
large  ewer  filled  with  sprigs  of  lavender,  that  made  the 
chamber  smell  very  daintily.     Nurse  Cicely  was  assisting 


OO  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

of  Maud  in  a  further  room,  the  door  of  which  being  open, 
the  two  could  be  seen  at  their  employment,  getting  up  the 
linen  of  the  family — for  nurse  had  grown  greatly  in  her 
mistress'  confidence,  because  of  her  constant  affectionate- 
ness  and  care  of  the  child,  and  of  her  trustworthiness 
and  wonderful  skill  in  all  household  matters. 

"  Mother,  I  pray  you  tell  me  something  concerning  of 
the  fairies  of  whom  Nurse  Cicely  discourseth  to  me  so 
oft  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  Prithee,  wait  till  nurse  hath  leisure,"  replied  his 
mother.     "  She  knoweth  more  of  them  than  do  I. 

"  An'  you  love  me,  tell  me  are  they  so  mindful  of  good 
little  children  as  she   hath  said?"    added  he  more    ur- 
gently. 
"  Indeed,  I  have  heard  so,"  answered  the  dame. 
"  I  marvel  where  they  shall  find   lodging,  be   they  of 
such  small  stature  ?"  observed  the  child. 

"  It  is  said  they  do  commonly  sojourn  in  the  cups  of 
the  sweetest  flowers,"  said  she  ;  "hiding  themselves  all 
the  day  therein,  in  the  deepest  retreats  of  woods  and 
lonely  places  ;  and  in  the  night  .time  come  they  out  in 
some  green  field,  or  other  verdant  space,  and  dance  mer- 
rily of  a  summer's  eve,  with  such  delicate  sweet  enjoy- 
ment as  is  unknown  to  mortals,  till  the  morning  star  ap- 
peareth  in  the  skies,  when  away  hie  they  to  their  hiding 
places,  every  one  as  swiftly  as  if  he  had  wings  to  carry 
him."  The  boy  listened  with  his  fair  eyes  upturned,  gaz- 
ing in  his  mother's  face  in  a  famous  seriousness  and  won- 
der, then  seemed  he  to  ponder  awhile  on  what  had  been 
told  him. 

"  And  how  may  little  children  be  possessed  of  such 
goodness  as  may  make  them  be  well  regarded  of  these 
same  fairies  ?  "   asked  he  at  last. 

"  They  must  give  way  to  no  naughty  behavior,"  an- 
swered his  mother.  "  They  must  not  be  uncivil,  nor  fro- 
ward,  nor  capable  of  any  kind  of  disobedience  or  ob- 
stinacy, nor  say  anything  that  is  not  true,  nor  be  impa- 
tient, or  greedy,  or  quarrelsome,  nor  have  any  uncleanly 
or  untidy  ways,  nor  do  any  one  thing  they  are  told  not." 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  89 

"  I  warrant  you  I  will  do  none  of  these,"  exclaimed 
the  boy. 

."But  above  all  they  must  be  sure  learn  their  letters 
betimes,"  continued  the  other;  "  that  they  may  be  able 
to  know  the  proper  knowledge  writ  in  books,  which  if 
they  know  not  when  they  grow  up,  neither  fairy  nor  any 
other  shall  esteem  them  to  be  of  any  goodness  whatsoev- 
er. 

"  I  warrant  you  I  will  learn  my  letters  as  speedily  as  I 
can,"  replied  the  child  eagerly.  "  Nay,  I  beseech  you, 
mother,  teach  them  to  me  now,  for  I  am  exceeding  desir- 
ous to  be  thought  of  some  goodness."  The  mother 
smiled,  well  pleased  to  notice  such  impatience  in  him, 
and  bade  him  leave  his  toys  and  fetch  her  a  horn-book 
that  was  on  a  shelf  with  a  few  books  of  another  kind,  the 
which  he  did  very  readily  :  and  then  as  he  stood  lean- 
ing on  her  lap,  seriously  intent  upon  observing  of  the 
characters  there  put  down,  she  told  him  of  what  names 
they  were  called,  and  bade  him  mark  them  well,  that  he 
might  be  sure  not  to  mistake  one  for  another.  This  very 
willingly  he  promised  to  do,  and  for  sometime,  the 
whilst  she  continued  her  work,  yet  with  a  frequent  and 
loving  eye  on  his  proceedings,  he  would  pore  over  those 
letters,  saying  to  himself  what  their  names  were,  or  if 
he  stood  in  any  doubt,  straightway  questioning  of  his 
mother  upon  the  matter. 

"  But  what  good  are  these  same  letters  of,  mother?  " 
inquired  he  all  at  once. 

"  This  much,"  replied  Dame  Shakspeare,  "  knowing 
of  them  thoroughly  one  by  one,  you  shall  soon  come  to 
be  able  to  put  them  together  for  the  forming  of  words  ; 
and  when  you  are  sufficiently  apt  at  that,  you  shall  there- 
by come  to  be  learned  enough  to  read  all  such  words  as 
are  in  any  sentence — which  you  shall  find  to  be  made  up 
of  such  ;  and  when  the  reading  of  these  sentences  be 
familiar  to  you,  doubt  not  your  ability  to  master  whatso- 
ever proper  book  falleth  into  your  hand — for  all  books 
are  composed  of  such  sentences." 

vol.  i.  8* 


90  TEE   YOUTH   OF    SiUkSPEAttE* 

"Is  it  so,  indeed  !  "  observed  the  boy  in  a  pretty  sort 
of  innocent  surprise.  "  And  do  any  of  these  goodly 
books  discourse  of  the  fairies  you  spoke  of  awhile  since  V 

"  Ah,  that  do  they,  and  famously  I  warrant  you,"  an- 
swered his  mother. 

"  Oh  !  how  glad  of  heart  shall  I  be  when  I  can  mas- 
ter such  books  !  "  exclaimed  the  child  very  earnestly  ; 
"  for  I  do  long  to  learn  more  of  these  fairies.  Dost 
know,  mother,  that  after  nurse  hath  sung  me  songs  of 
them,  or  told  me  marvelous  pretty  tales  of  them,  as  is 
her  wont  till  I  have  fallen  asleep,  it  hath  seemed  to  me 
as  if  crowds  of  such  tiny  folk  out  of  all  number,  shining  so 
brightly  in  their  gay  apparel  of  the  finest  colors,  as  though 
I  was  with  them  in  the  fair  sunshine,  have  come  throng- 
ing to  me,  offering  me  this  dainty  nice  thing  and  the 
other  dainty  nice  thing,  and  singing  to  me  sweeter  songs 
than  nurse  Cicely  sings,  and  dancing  and  making  sport 
with  such  infinite  joy  as  would  make  any  glad  to  be  of 
their  company  ;  and  whilst  they  continue,  they  show  me 
such  wonderful  great  kindness,  and  afford  me  such  ex- 
treme pleasure,  it  grieveth  me  when  I  wake  to  find  they 
are  all  gone.  So  that  I  am  exceeding  desirous,  as  I  have 
said,  to  make  myself  as  good  as  I  can,  and  to  learn  my 
letters  as  speedily  as  I  may,  that  I  may  be  admitted  to 
play  with  them,  and  be  loved  of  them  as  much  as  they 
will  let  me." 

The  good  dame  marvelled  somewhat  to  hear  this,  and 
to  note  with  what  pleased  excitement  it  was  said,  for 
sooth  to  say,  it  was  a  right  pleasant  picture,  as  ever  lim- 
ner drew,  to  see  those  intelligent  eyes  so  full  of  deep  ex- 
pressiveness, and  the  fair  forehead  surrounded  with  its 
clustering  shining  curls,  and  the  delicate  rosy  cheek  and 
smiling  mouth,  that  could  of  themselves  have  discoursed 
most  exquisite  meaning,  even  though  that  most  melodi- 
ous voice  had  failed  in  its  proper  office. 

"  Marry,  but  you  have  pleasant  dreams,  methinks  !  " 
exclaimed  she  at  last. 

"  Ay,  that  have  I,"  replied  the  boy  ;    "  yet  I  like  not 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  91 

waking,  and  all  this  sweet  pleasantness  go  away,  I  know 
not  where.  But  I  must  to  my  lesson'  of  the  letters," 
added  he,  as  he  took  to  his  horn-book  again  ;  "  else  shall 
the  fairies  take  me  to  be  of  no  manner  of  goodness,  and 
straightway  have  none  of  me." 

"  Yes,  an'  it  please  you,  mistress  is  within.  I  pray 
you  enter,"  nurse  Cicely  was  here  heard  to  say  in  the 
next  chamber — "  I  doubt  not  she  will  be  exceedingly 
glad  of  your  company  ;  so  walk  in,  I  beseech  you.  Here 
is  Mistress  Alderman  Dowlas,  an'  it  please  you,  mistress  !" 
exclaimed  she,  entering  the  chamber,  closely  followed 
by  the  draper's  wife,  looking  very  cheerful,  and  dressed 
in  a  scarlet  cloak  and  hat,  with  a  basket  in  her  hand  and 
her  purse  at  her  girdle,  as  though  she  were  going  to  mar- 
keting. 

"  Ha,  gossip,  how  farest  ?  "  inquired  the  visitor,  mak- 
ing up  to  her  host,  with  a  merry  tripping  pace. 

"  Bravely,  neighbor,  I  thank  you  heartily,"  replied 
she,  and  then  they  two  kissed  each  other  affectionately, 
and  nurse  Cicely  got  a  chair,  and  having  wiped  the  seat 
with  her  apron,  sat  it  down  close  to  her  mistress. 

"  And  how's  the  dear  boy  ?  Come  hither,  you  pretty 
rogue,  I  would  have  a  kiss  of  you  !  "  exclaimed  the  al- 
derman's wife,  as  she  sat  herself  at  her  ease,  and  gave 
the  basket  for  nurse  to  place  on  the  table. 

"  An'  it  please  you,  I  am  learning  of  my  letters,"  said 
the  child,  shrinking  closer  to  his  mother's  side. 

"  Nay,  by  my  troth,  this  is  somewhat  uncivil  of  you," 
cried  the  dame,  though  she  laughed  merrily  all  the  time. 
11  But  I  doubt  you  will  use  a  woman  so  when  you  get  to 
be  a  man." 

"  He  will  have  none  of  his  father  in  him  an'  he  do," 
observed  nurse,  "  for  he  had  the  wit  to  win  one  of  the 
very  comeliest  women  all  the  country  round.' 

"  La,  nurse,  how  idly  you  talk  !  "  exclaimed  Dame 
Shakspeare,  then  bending  her  head  to  her  young  son  to 
hide  a  slight  blush  that  appeared  on  her  fair  cheeks,  she 
said  to  hicn — "  Go  you  to  neighbor  Dowlas  like  a  good 
boy,  I  pray  you." 


92  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  Ha,  come  hither  straight,  and  mayhap  I  shall  find 
you  some  keepsake  ere  we  part,"  added  her  neighbor. 
The  child  moved  slowly  towards  her,  with  his  eyes  stead- 
fastly regarding  of  his  horn-book,  till  she  raised  him  on 
her  knee  and  caressed  him  ;  and  yet  he  was  as  intent  on 
the  letters  as  ever. 

"  And  what  hast  got  here,  I  prithee,  that  thou  art  so 
earnest  about  ?  "  asked  Mistress  Dowlas,  as  she  examin- 
ed what  he  had  in  his  hand.  "  A  horn-book,  as  I  live  ! 
and  dost  really  know  thy  letters  at  so  early  an  age  ? " 

"  By'r  Lady,  of  all  children  ever  I  met,  he  exceedeth 
them  in  aptness  at  any  sort  of  learning,"  cried  nurse 
Cicely,  putting  of  his  frock  straight  because  of  its  ap- 
pearing somewhat  rumpled  ;  "as  I  live,  I  never  heard 
of  his  fellow  :  wilt  believe  it,  mistress  ? — if  by  chance  I 
sins  him  a  ballad — the  which  he  is  ever  a  calling  of  me 
to  do,  he  will  have  it  again  and  again  ;  and,  perchance, 
ere  the  day  is  over,  he  will  be  playing  with  his  toys  and 
singing  of  that  very  ballad  all  the  whilst !  " 

"  Oh,  the  dear  boy  I "  exclaimed  the  draper's  pretty* 
wife,  as  she  cuddled  him  closer  in  her  arms,  the  mother 
looking  on  with  a  famous  satisfaction  in  her  features  ; 
"  and  canst  tell  me  those  pretty  letters  ?  "  inquired  she 
of  him. 

"  Nay,  I  doubt  I  can  tell  you  them  all,"  replied  the 
child  ingenuously  ;  "  but  methinks  I  know  a  good  many 
of  them."  Then  pointing  with  his  finger  on  the  several 
characters  as  he  named  them,  he  continued — "  first  here 
is  A,  that  ever  standeth  astraddle  ; — next  him  is  B,  who 
is  all  head  and  body  and  no  legs  ; — then  cometh  C, 
bulged  out  behind  like  a  very  hunchback  ; — after  him  D, 
who  doeth  the  clean  contrary,  for  his  bigness  is  all  be- 
fore ; — next,"  here  he  hesitated  for  some  few  seconds, 
the  others  present  regarding  him  with  exceeding  atten- 
tiveness  and  pleasure — "  next  here  is— -alack,  I  have 
forgotten  of  what  name  this  one  is  called  :  mother,  1 
pray  you  tell  me  again  !  "  It  was  told  him  presently. 
Then  went  he  on  as  before,  with  great  seriousness  nam- 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  93 

ing  of  the  letters  with  some  few  mistakes,  in  most  of 
which  he  quickly  corrected  himself,  and  coming  to  a  halt 
when  he  was  in  any  doubt  of  the  matter — which  ended 
in  his  asking  help  of  his  mother — none  interrupting  him 
till  he  came  to  the  last  of  them. 

"  There  is  a  scholar  for  you  !  "  cried  nurse  Cicely  in 
an  ecstacy  of  admiration  ;  "  saw  any  such  wonderful 
cleverness  ?  O,  my  Christian  conscience,  I  am  amazed 
at  beholding  of  such  a  marvel  !  Well,  an'  he  come  not 
to  be  some  famous  learned  clerk  I  shall  be  hugely  disap- 
pointed." 

"  Dear  heart,  how  I  love  thee  !  "  exclaimed  Mistress 
Dowlas,  kissing  of  him  with  an  earnest  show  of  affection  ; 
"  nurse,  prithee  give  me  the  basket  ;  I  have  got  him 
there  a  delicate  piece  of  march-pane,  which  I  doubt  not 
will  give  him  infinite  content ;  and  here  in  my  purse  I 
have  got  a  bran  new  silver  groat  fresh  from  the  mint, 
which  he  shall  have  of  me  as  a  keepsake." 

"  Marry,  what  a  prodigal  goodness  !  "  cried  nurse,  as 
she  did  what  was  required  of  her  without  loss  of  time  ; 
"  but  he  meriteth  it  well,  he  doth,  I  will  be  bound  for 
him,  and  every  good  thing  in  this  world  that  might  grace 
his  having." 

"  What  say  you  to  neighbor  Dowlas  for  her  great 
kindness  ? "  inquired  the  much  delighted  mother,  as  her 
young  son  took  in  his  hands  her  visitor's  gifts. 

"  I  thank  you  right  heartily,  neighbor  Dowlas,"  re- 
plied he,  lifting  up  his  fair  eyes  with  such  modesty  and 
gratefulness  expressed  in  them,  as  charmed  her  heart  to 
see. 

"  I'faith,  should  I  be  inclined  to  become  covetous, 
methinks  here  I  should  find  ample  excuse  for  it,"  ob- 
served the  draper's  wife,  patting  of  the  child's  rosy  cheeks 
as  she  put  him  down  from  her  lap  :  then  rising,  added, 
"  But  now  I  must  hie  me  home  as  speedily  as  1  may  for 
the  getting  of  dinner  ready,  for  indeed  I  have  tarried  so 
long  a  space  since  my  coming  out,  that  perchance  my 
good  master  shall  give  me  up  altogether." 


94  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

The  draper's  wife  having  gossiped  all  she  had  to  say 
concerning  of  her  neighbors  and  their  doings,  kissed  the 
boy  and  his  mother  very  lovingly,  and  took  her  leave. 

Now  the  reader  hath  already  had  some  acquaintance 
with  those  worthless,  Master  Alderman  Dowlas  and  Mas- 
ter Alderman  Malmsey,  but  methinks  'tis  high  time  he 
should  know  more  of  them  for  the  better  understanding 
of  this  story.  Both  had  been  married  some  time  to  two 
as  proper  women  as  ever  were  seen.  The  former  of  the 
two  was  a  rigid,  serious,  methodical  fellow  to  all  outward 
appearance  ;  somewhat  tall  and  slender,  with  bard  sol- 
emn features,  as  hath  been  described  ;  and  the  other  was 
one  of  a  right  jolly  face  and  portly  person,  with  a  merry 
dark  eye,  ever  a  winking  at  some  pretty  woman  or  an- 
other, and  a  short  black  beard,  with  hair  of  a  like  color. 
Each  was  turned  of  forty,  and  therefore  ought  to  have 
been  of  discreet  behavior  ;  and  as  for  their  wives,  if  ever 
men  had  inducement  to  honest  conduct,  they  had  in  pos- 
sessing of  such  women  ;  for  they  were  ever  of  an  admi- 
rable pleasant  humor,  of  notable  excellence  in  what  in 
woman  ought  to  be,  and  in  all  respects  such  good  wives, 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  say  ought  to  their  discredit. 
Each  was  a  little  short  of  thirty,  and  having  had  no  chil- 
dren, had  not  yet  parted  with  their  youthfulness,  and  the 
innocent  happy  carelessness  which  is  so  oft  its  compan- 
ion. They  were  friends  from  girls,  and  loved  each  other 
as  though  they  were  sisters. 

"  Neighbor  Dowlas  !  "  cried  a  well-known  voice,  as 
the  draper's  wife  was  crossing  to  her  house  ;  and  look- 
ing up,  she  saw  her  gossip  Mistress  Alderman  Malmsey 
leaning  out  of  her  casement.  "  I  pray  you  come  in  a 
while.  1  have  a  matter  of  some  moment  for  your  private 
ear." 

"  I'll  come  to  you  this  very  instant,"  answered  the 
other,  and  straightway  passed  into  the  vintner's  dwelling. 
Scarce  had  she  got  within  the  threshhold,  when  the  jolly 
vintner  bustled  up  to  her  with  a  marvelous  obsequious 
courtesy   welcoming  her  to   the   house,  pressing   her  to 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  52 

taste  of  his  best  wine,  and  leering  in  her  face  the  whilst, 
whispering  all  sorts    of  sugared  compliments   in  her  ear. 

"Nay,  prithee  let  me  go  !  "  exclaimed  she,  striving 
to  free  her  hand,  which  he  held  in  his  as  they  stood  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stair.  "  You  hurt  my  fingers,  you  vile 
wretch,  with  your  intolerable  squeezing." 

"Oh,  delectable  Mistress  Dowlas  !  "  cried  he,  kissing 
of  her  hand  in  a  seeming  rapture  ;  "  the  stars  are  but  pit- 
iful rushlights  to  those  exquisite  bright  eyes,  and  that 
delicate  fair  cheek  out-rivaleth  the  peach's  richest 
bloom." 

"Away  with  you,  and  your  poor  nattering  stuff!" 
said  the  draper's  pretty  wife,£till  striving  to  break  away 
from  him  ;  "  I'm  not  to  be  cozened  so  easily,  I  promise 
you." 

"  I  beseech  you,  dearest  life,  allow  me  one  sweet  sal- 
ute !  "  whispered  he,  in  most  entreating  tones,  as  he 
brought  his  face  as  close  as  he  could  to  her's. 

"There's  one,  prithee,  make  the  most  on't  !  "  ex- 
claimed she,  as  she  took  him  a  box  on  the  ear  that  made 
the  place  ring  ;  and  then  ran  laughing  up  stairs. 

Neighbor  Malmsey  wore  a  more  serious  face  than  was 
her  wont.  At  least,  so  thought  neighbor  Dowlas,  as 
she  entered  her  chamber ;  and  after  the  customary  cour- 
tesies were  over,  and  the  two  were  seated  close  together, 
neighbor  Malmsey  looked  more  serious  still. 

"  I  have  a  matter  to  speak  of,  that  maketh  me  exceed- 
ing dull  at  heart,"  commenced  Mistress  Malmsey. 

"  Doubtless,  'tis  concerning  the  improper  behavior  of 
her  wretch  of  a  husband,"  thought  Mistress  Dowlas; 
then  added  aloud.  "  Believe  me,  I  am  infinitely  con- 
cerned also." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  think  the  worse  of  me  for  tell- 
ing you,"  continued  the  vintner's  wife  ;  "  but  I  assure 
you,  rather  than  allow  of  your  being  unhappy  by  know- 
ing it,  I  have  for  many  years  past  endured  mucn  of  un- 
pleasantness at  his  hands,  and  said  nought  but  rebuke 
him  for  his  wantonness." 


96  THE  YfcUTH   of    shakspeare. 

"  Alack,  we   cannot  all   have  good  husbands  ! "    ex- 
claimed her  gossip,  in  a  consolatory  sort  of  manner. 
"  Now,  my  Jonathan " 

"  But  he  only  groweth  the  bolder  for  my  forbearance, " 
continued  neighbor  Malmsey,  interrupting  of  the  other. 
"  Indeed,  he  getteth  to  be  quite  abominable,  and  must 
have  a  speedy  cheek  put  to  his  misdeeds,  or  his  wicked, 
or  his  wickedness  will  soon  make  such  a  head,  there  will 
be  no  putting  of  him  down." 

"  O'  my  life,  I  cannot  count  him  so  bad  as  that,"  ob- 
served neighbor  Dowlas,  as  if,  with  a  view  of  affording 
the  ill-used  wife  some  comfort.  "  Perchance,  it  is  only  a 
little  wildness  that  good  coqpsel  will  make  him  ashamed  of 
speedily.     Now,  my  Jonathan " 

"  I  am  glad  yqja  think  no  worse  of  him,"  quickly  an- 
swered the  vintner's  wife;  "but  methinks,  it  looketh  to 
be  a  very  shameful  impudency  in  him  to  go  on  so,  and 
have  so  good  a  wife." 

"  Ay,  'tis  monstrous  that,  of  a  surety  !"  cried  her 
gossip. 

"  But  I  have  done  with  him,"  added  neighbor  Malmsey, 
with  some  earnestness  ;  "  he  hath  lost  my  good  opinion 
long  since.  I  will  forswear  his  company,  an'  he  mend  not 
soon." 

"  Pirthee,  take  not  to  such  extreme  measures  !"  said 
the  other,  concernedly.  "  Finding  no  profit  in  it,  I  doubt 
not  he  will  alter  his  way,  and  I  will  take  good  heed  he 
shall  do  you  no  manner  of  dishonesty." 

"  Marry,  I  can  answer  for  that,"  observed  her  com- 
panion ;  "  but  I  do  assure  you  I  have  talked  to  him  many 
times  of  the  heinousness  of  his  offence,  and  never  at  any 
time  have  given  him  the  slightest  provocation  for  such 
notorious  misbehaving  to  you." 

"Of  that  I  feel  well  assured,"  answered  neighbor 
Dowlas  ;  "  and  if  at  last  he  do  not  love  you  as  fondly  as 
ever  man  loved  his  wife,  I  shall  be  hugely  mistaken." 

"  Eh  ?  What  ?  Love  me  ?  "  exclaimed  her  companion, 
looking  in  a  famous  wonder.     "  But  I  marvel  you  should 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  97 

make  a  jest  of  it.  I  would  not  in  such  a  case  I  promise 
you  ;  but  it  glads  me  infinitely  to  say  there  is  no  fear 
of  such  a  thing,  My  Timothy  giveth  me  no  sort  of  un- 
easiness." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  her  neighbor,  seeming  in  a  greater 
amazement  than  the  other  had  been. 

"  1  would  your  husband  would  take  a  pattern  of 
him." 

"  I  would  nought  of  the  kind,  neighbor  Malmsey," 
quickly  ejaculated  the  draper's  wife,  with  a  very  absolute 
earnestness.  "  I  like  not  my  husband  to  be  ever  a  run- 
ning after  another  man's  wife,  seeking  of  unlawful  fa- 
vors of  her,  as  for  years  past  Master  Malmsey  hath  done 
to  me,  I  promise  you." 

"My  Timothy  run  after  you,  neighbor  Dowlas  1" 
screamed  out  the  vintner's  wife,  bounding  from  her  seat 
in  as  absolute  astonishment  as  ever  was  seen. 

"  By  my  troth,  yes,"  answered  her  companion. 

"Oh,  the  horrid  villain  !  "  exclaimed  the  other. 

"  He  is  ever  pestering  of  me  with  his  foolish  flatteries 
and  protestations  of  love,  and  the  like  poor  stuff,"  added 
the  draper's  wife.  "I  have  no  rest  from  him  when  I 
have  such  ill-hap  as  to  be  in  his  company.  Nay,  as  I 
came  in  here  he  would  needs  have  a  kiss  of  me  at  the 
stair-foot,  but  I  up  with  my  hand  and  gave  him  so  rude  a 
salute  on  the  ear,  I  doubt  not  I  have  taken  all  conceit  of 
such  favors  out  of  his  head." 

"  Oh,  the  abominable  caitiff !"  cried  neighbor  Malm- 
sey. 

"  I  liked  not  telling  you  of  it,  thinking  it  might  vex 
you,"  continued  the  other,  "  so  I  bore  it  as  good-humor- 
edly  as  I  could,  and  should  not  have  spoke  of  it  now  had 
you  not  begun  the  subject  upon  my  entering  of  the 
room." 

"  'Twas  of  Master  Dowlas's  shameful  behavior  to  me 
I  was  speaking,"  said  the  vintner's  wife.  "  He  hath  fol- 
lowed me  up  and  down  for  years  in  this  way,  spite  of  all 
I  could  say  or  do." 

vol.  i.  9 


98  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  What,  my  Jonathan  !  "  now  cried  the  other,  starting 
from  her  chair  in  a  greater  to  do  than  her  companion  had 
been.  "  The  absolute  wretch  !  But  I  will  be  even  with 
him,  I  warrant  you.  Please  you,  neighbor  Malmsey,  to 
leave  the  revenging  of  the  wrong  done  us  by  these  pitiful 
hypocrites  ;  it  shall  be  done  after  such  a  sort  as  shall 
punish  them  handsomely  for  their  intended  villainy,  and 
in  remembrance  of  it  keep  them  from  all  such  baseness 
for  the  future." 

"  That  will  I,  and  willingly,  gossip,"  answered  her  com- 
panion with  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  But  he  hath  oft 
pressed  me  to  give  him  a  private  meeting,  prithee,  say 
what  I  had  best  do." 

"  I  have  a  merry  cousin  of  mine,  who  will  help  us  in 
this  purpose  of  ours,"  replied  Neighbor  Dowlas.  "  So 
you  must  e'en  invite  him  to  sup  with  you  alone  at  Widow 
Pippins'.  1  will  do  the  same  with  my  worshipful  gallant, 
and  if  you  learn  your  part  of  me,  we  will  have  as  exquis- 
ite sport  as  ever  misused  woman  had  of  a*  vile  husband." 

"Rely  on  me,"  said  Neighbor  Malmsey.  "  But,  as  I 
live,  I  hear  the  voice  of  your  precious  partner  talking  to 
mine  on  the  stair-foot !"  exclaimed  she. 

"  Doubtless  they  will  both  make  for  here,  so  do  you  as 
I  have  said,  and  leave  the  rest  to  my  managing,"  added 
the  other.  She  bad  scarce  said  the  words,  and  they  had 
reseated  themselves,  when,  as  they  appeared  intent  upon 
some  deep  discourse,  there  entered  Master  Alderman 
Dowlas,  with  his  usual  great  soberness  of  manner,  hav- 
ing bis  brother  alderman  behind  him  in  a  rare  jesting  hu- 
mor, as  he  seemed,  as  if  quite  forgetful  of  the  box  of  the 
ear  he  had  just  had. 

"  Perdie  !  here  is  one  about  to  send  the  town  crier 
after  you,  fair  Mistress  Dowlas  !"  exclaimed  he,  making 
up  to  her  as  gallantly  as  ever. 

"Indeed,  I  have  marvelled  hugely  on  account  of  your 
long  stay  abroad,  knowing  not  how  you  had  disposed  of 
yourself,"  said  the  draper.  "  But  I  am  wonderfully  con- 
tent to  find  you  in  such  admirable  company.     And  how 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  99 

doth  my  fair  life  ?  "  whispered  he,  glancing  ai  his  friend's 
wife  most  enamoredly,  as  he  followed  her  to  a  distant  part 
of  the  chamber,  and  vowing  and  entreating  and  nattering 
of  her,  as  though  it  were  done  for  a  very  wager.  Nor 
was  Master  Malmsey  in  any  way  behind  him  in  such  ill- 
doing,  as  may  be  supposed,  for  he  sat  down  with  his  back 
to  the  other,  before  Mistress  Dowlas,  exercising  of  his 
tongue  with  the  movingest  expression  he  could  think  of, 
and  gazing  at  her  comeliness  as  though  it  were  the  rarest 
feast  for  the  eye  that  the  whole  world  contained.  Nei- 
ther thought  of  glancing  towards  where  was  his  wife.  In- 
deed, each  was  too  intent  on  what  he  was  about  to  heed 
what  the  other  was  a  doing,  not  imagining  such  a  thing 
as  his  friend  attempting  of  the  same  thing  as  he  was  him- 
self straining  might  and  main  to  accomplish..  Howsoev- 
er, in  the  space  of  a  few  moments  this  private  talk  was 
broke  up,  manifestly  to  the  exceeding  contentation  of 
these  worthless  husbands. 

"  What  an  absolute  fool  is  Neighbor  Malmsey,  that  he 
looketh  not  closer  after  his  wife  !  "  thought  Master  Al- 
derman Dowlas,  as  he  descended  the  stair  looking  as 
solemn  as  an  owl. 

"  What  a  very  ass  is  Neighbor  Dowlas,  that  he  can- 
not see  that  I  am  making  love  to  his  wife  before  his  face  ?  " 
thought  the  vintner,  with  an  inward  chuckle  of  satisfac- 
tion  at  his  own  cleverness  and  better  fortune. 

All  that  day  the  draper  appeared  in  a  most  exquisite  sat- 
isfaction with  himself.  The  seriousness  of  his  aspect  was 
oft  disturbed  with  a  happy  smile,  and  as  the  noon  wore 
out,  he  kept  ever  asking  of  the  hour. 

"  Dame,"  said  he  at  last,  after  he  had  spent  a  wonder- 
ful time  in  washing,  and  decking  himself  out  in  his  best 
apparel,  till  he  looked  as  spruce  and  stiff  as  a  roll  of 
buckram  ;  "  there  is  a  certain  godly  man  over  at  Hills- 
borough, that  I  have  promised  Neighbor  Hurdle  to  go  and 
hear  preach  this  night  ;  if,  peradventure,  I  should  tarry 
long,  prithee,  get  thee  to  bed  betimes.  I  am  loath  thy 
rest  should  be  shortened  by  waiting  up  for  me." 


100  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  Marry !  I  should  like  to  go  myself  to  hear  the  good 
man,"  observed  his  wife,  somewhat  mischievously  by  the 
way,  "  for  methinks  his  preaching  cannot  help  being  as 
good  for  me  as  for  you." 

"  But  the  distance  is  far  too  great  for  thy  walking, 
dame,  else  shouldst  thou  without  fail,"  replied  he  very 
readily, 

"  Nay,  but  I  *  alked  to  Barston  last  Shrovetide,  which 
is  a  good  mile  i  nger,"  said  she.  "  I  doubt  not  such  a 
good  mile  longer,"  said  she.  "  I  doubt  not  such  a  journey 
will  do  me  an  especial  good  service,  to  say  nought  of  the 
godliness  of  it." 

"  Indeed,  I  would  take  thee  with  all  my  heart,"  added 
her  husband,  "  but  since  the  last  rains  some  parts  of  the 
road  are  utterly  impassible  for  huge  deep  ponds  that  go 
right  across." 

"  Then  will  we  borrow  John  a  Combe's  grey  horse, 
and  I  will  ride  Lehind  you  on  a  pillion,"  answered  his 
wife,  as  if  desirous  of  bringing  him  to  a  nonplus. 

"  O'  my  life  !  I  cannot  wait  to  go  a  borrowing  now,  so 
I  must  e'en  wish  thee  good  bye,  and  take  the  another 
time,"  replied  Master  Dowlas ;  and  then,  as  if  fearful 
she  would  more  strongly  desire  to  go,  as  quick  as  he 
might  he  took  himself  straight  out  of  the  house.  Scarce 
had  he  entered  the  street  when  he  was  hailed  by  his  jolly 
neighbor  opposite,  standing  at  his  door  in  his  Sundry  jerk- 
in and  new  gallygaskins,  as  finely  trussed  as  ever  he  was 
when  a  good  score  years  younger.  To  his  question 
where  was  he  going  so  fine,  the  draper  rnswered  as  he 
had  told  his  wife,  then  Master  Malmsey  declared  to  the 
other  that  as  his  good  dame  had  gone  a  visiting  to  her 
aunt's,  he  intended  making  a  night  on't  with  a  few  choice 
spirits  at  his  cousin  Birch's.  Thus  each  were  deceiv- 
ed, and  each  laughed  in  his  sleeve  at  the  other's  credu- 
lity. 

Jonathan  Dowlas  proceeded  on  his  way,  hugging  him- 
self in  his  own  conceit  at  the  pass  he  had  brought  matters 
to  with  the  buxom  Mistress  Malmsey,  till  he  came  to  the 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  101 

outskirts  of  the  town,  where  was  a  small  inn  known  as 
"  The  Rose,''  kept  by  the  widow  Pippins,  in  famous  re- 
pute for  her  careless  free  humor,  and  fondness  for  jests  of 
all  sorts.  The  building,  or  buildings,  for  there  seemed 
more  than  one,  were  connected  by  a  wooden  gallery  that 
run  across  right  in  front  of  the  yard,  on  one  side  of  which 
lay  the  more  respectable  portion  of  the  tenement,  with 
its  boarded  front  covered  with  grapes,  that  hung  in  famous 
clusters  even  up  to  the  thatch.  The  other  part  looked 
to  be  the  stables,  pigsties,  and  the  like  sort  of  places. 
Jonathan  made  for  the  entrance,  holding  up  his  bead  as 
high  as  he  might. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Master  Alderman,  ar't  there  !"  exclaimed 
a  voice  from  the  gallery,  and  looking  up,  the  draper's  eye 
caught  sight  of  the  widow  Pippins.  There  was  she  lean- 
ing on  her  elbows  over  the  railing,  as  if  watching  for  him, 
her  brown  face  crinkling  upon  her  red  arms,  like  a  rasher 
of  bacon  on  the  burning  coals.  Perchance  she  might  be 
laughing,  but  Jonathan  Dowlas  was  not  nigh  enough  to 
see  very  distinctly.  "  Get  thee  in  quick,  I  prithee,  and 
I  will  be  with  thee  straight." 

The  alderman  obeyed  her  bidding  with  a  stately  alac- 
rity, and  he  had  scarce  got  fairly  housed  when  he  was 
met  by  mine  hostess,  whose  still  bright  eyes,  albeit  though 
she  was  a  woman  somewhat  advanced  in  years,  twinkled 
with  a  most  merry  maliciousness. 

"Follow  me,"  whispered  she,  evidently  striving  to  sup- 
press a  laugh,  and  then  giving  him  a  sly  nudge  and  a 
wink,  added,  "  Oh,  thou  villain  !  "  led  the  way  to  a 
chamber,  of  the  which  she  had  scarce  closed  the  door, 
when  she  burst  out  into  a  long  loud  laugh,  the  draper 
looking  on  as  though  he  knew  not  what  to  make  of  it. 
"  By  my  fay,  now  who  would  have  thought  of  this  !'' 
exclaimed  she,  holding  of  her  sides,  and  looking  at  him 
with  exceeding,  yet  with  a  monstrous  ludicrous  intent- 
ness.  "  Where  didst  get  the  powder  to  make  so  exquis- 
ite fair  a  woman  so  infinitely  in  love  with  thee  as  is  Mis- 
tress Malmsey  ?  "     The    alderman   relaxed  somewhat  in 

vol.  i.  9* 


102  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

the  seriousness  of  his  aspect  at"  hearing  this  intelligence. 
"  She  dotes  on  the  very  ground  thou  dost  walk  on  !  "  con- 
tinued she,  and  the  alderman  smiled  outright.  "  But 
who  would  have  suspected  this  of  one  so  serious  as  thou 
art  ?  O,  my  womanhood  !  what  a  very  rogue  thou  art  I" 
saying  which  she  fetched  Master  Dowlas  so  sore  a  thump 
on  the  back,  that  it  went  some  way  towards  the  knocking 
of  him  off  his  legs. 

"  Poor  Master  Malmsey  !"  cried  she,  as  plainly  as  she 
could  in  the  midst  of  her  laughing,  "  Alack !  he  hath  no 
suspicion  of  his  wife's  huge  fondness  for  thee,  I'll  be 
bound  for't.  Knowing  of  thy  notable  gravity,  he  cannot 
have  the  slightest  color  of  jealousy.  But,  1  charge  thee, 
use  her  with  a  proper  handsomeness.  She  is  none  of 
your  light  madams — she  hath  a  most  gentle  spirit,  and  is 
the  very  delicatest,  rweetest creature  lever  came  anigh." 
Then  fixing  on  him  a  look  in  which  seriousness  and  mirth 
seemed  striving  for  the  mastery,  she  cried,  "  Go  to,  for  a 
sly  fox!"  and  hitting  of  him  just  such  another  thump  as 
she  gave  him  a  moment  since, — with  a  fresh  burst  of 
laughter — she  left  him  to  himself. 

Jonathan  found  that  he  was  in  a  long  narrow  chamber, 
strewed  with  rushes,  with  a  door  at  each  end,  and  one  at 
the  side,  at  which  he  had  entered — having  in  the  middle 
a  small  table  set  out  for  supper,  with  a  larger  one  at  the 
further  end  of  the  chamber,  completely  covered  with  a 
cloth  that  fell  down  to  the  ground  on  all  sides  of  it,  and 
it  was  fairly  hung  round  with  arras,  somewhat  the  worse 
for  its  antiquity,  for  it  gaped  in  some  places  sadly.  He 
had  hardly  noticed  these  things  when  the  door  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  room  opened,  and  there  entered  Mistress 
Malmsey,  clad  in  her  very  gayest  attire,  and  looking,  as 
the  alderman  thought,  more  blooming  than  ever  he  had 
seen  her.  He,  with  an  exceeding  formal  sort  of  gallant- 
ry, hastened  to  get  a  chair  for  her,  expressing  of  his  ex- 
treme rapture  at  her  goodness  in  giving  him  this  appoint- 
ment, and  then  sat  himself  down  as  close  to  her 
as  he  could,  taking  her  hand  very  lovingly  in  his,  and 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  203 

commencing  his  famous  fine  compliments,  protestations, 
and  entreaties,  with  an  earnestness  that  he  imagined  was 
sure  of  prevailing  with  any  woman.  The  vintner's  wife 
answered  with  some  coyness,  that  convinced  him  what 
the  widow  Pippins  had  said  was  true  enough,  and  he 
straitway  redoubled  his  exertions,  fully  assured  his  suc- 
cess with  her  was  beyond  all  doubting. 

"  Divinest  creature  !  "  exclaimed  the  enamored  draper, 
looking  at  his  companion  as  lack-a-daisical  as  a  hooked 
gudgeon,  "fairest,  sweetest,  super-finest  she  alive  !  I  do 
assure  thee  my  affections  be  of  the  best  nap,  a.id  will 
wear  in  all  weathers  ;  and  I  will  give  thee  such  liberal 
measure  of  my  love  as  shall  make  thee  infinitely  loath  to 
have  dealings  elsewhere." 

"  Alack,  men  are  such  deceivers  !  "  cried  Mistress 
Malmsey.  "  They  soon  depart  from  what  they  prom- 
ise." 

"  Count  me  not  as  such,  I  pr'ythee,"  replied  the  al- 
derman, "  I  am  warranted  fast.  I  do  assure  thee,  I  am 
none  of  such  poor  fabrics — I  am  of  the  finest  quality, 
even  to  the  fag  end.  Oh,  exquisitest  Mistress  Malmsey, 
an'  you  do  not  take  pity  on  me  straight,  I  must  needs  lie 
on  the  shelf  like  a  considerable  remnant,  of  which  the 
fashion  hath  gone  out  of  date." 

"  Hush  1  as  I  live,  there  is  my  husband's  voice  !  " 
here  exclaimed  the  vintner's  wife,  to  the  great  alarm  of  her 
lover,  and  both  started  up  together,  seeming  in  a  wonder- 
ful surprise  and  affright. 

"  What  ho  1  house  here  !"  shouted  Master  Alder- 
man Malmsey,  from  the  stair  foot. 

"  Hide  thee,  good  Master  Dowlas,  or  I  am  lost,"  ex- 
claimed the  vintner's  wife,  and  before  Jonathan  could 
look  about  him,  she  had  vanished  out  of  the  bottom 
door;  but  he  was  not  allowed  .time  to  think  what  he 
should  do  in  such  a  dilemma,  for  he  heard  the  footsteps 
of  his  neighbor  close  upon  the  door,  so,  as  speedily  as  he 
could,  he  crept  under  the  table  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room,   imagining  that  the   other  was  merely   paying  of  a 


104  THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE 

passing  visit,  as  he  was  proceeding  to  his  cousin  Birch's, 
and  would  tarry  but  a  short  time.  Here  he  lay  snugly 
ensconced,  not  daring  to  peep  out  for  fear  he  should  be 
seen.  Presently,  in  came  the  jolly  vintner,  humming  of 
a  tune,  and  bandying  jests  with  the  Widow  Pippins,  who 
led  the  way  with  a  light — it  getting  to  be  nigh  upon  dark 
— and,  by  her  loud  laughing,  was  in  as  fine  a  humor  at 
beholding  him  in  her  house,  as  she  had  before  been  at 
seeing  his  neighbor. 

"  Odds  pittikins,  what  a  jest !  "  cried  the  merry  wid- 
ow, putting  the  light  upon  the  supper  table.  "Happy 
man  ! "  added  she,  looking  on  him  as  seriously  as  she 
could,  and  then  giving  him  a  sly  poke  on  the  ribs,  ex- 
claimed, as  plain  as  her  loud  laughing  would  allow,  "but 
what  a  monstrous  poor  fool  is  her  husband  !  "  At  which 
saying  of  hers,  Master  Malmsey  joined  in  the  laugh  right 
earnestly. 

"There  is  never  such  an  ass  in  Stratford,"  said  he, 
when  his  mirth  would  allow  him  words.  "  He  is  so  weak 
of  conceit  in  the  matter  that  he  will  allow  of  my  making 
love  to  his  wife  before  his  eyes.  But  mum,  widow — 
mum's  the  word,"  said  he,  mysteriously,  "  I  should  not 
like  of  his  knowing  what  kindness  I  am  doing  him. 
Mayhap  he  would  take  it  somewhat  uncivil  of  me.  So 
be  close,  widow,  I  prithee." 

"  As  a  fox,"  replied  the  other  knowingly. 

"  Dost  not  think,  a  man  who  taketh  no  better  heed  of 
his  wife,  ought  to  be  so  served  ?  "   inquired  the  vintner. 

"  O'  my  troth,  yes  !  "  answered  the  widow,  breaking 
out  into  a  fresh  peal  of  laughter  ;  "  and  trust  me,  I 
would  think  it  good  sport  to  help  make  a  fool  of  him.'' 

"  1  thank  thee  exceedingly,"  said  Master  Malmsey. 

"  Nay,  thou  hast  small  cause  of  thanks,  believe  me, 
Master  Alderman,"  replied  his  merry  companion,  with 
the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks  from  sheer  mirth  ;  "  I 
do  it  out  of  good  will — out  of  good  will,  I  do  assure 
thee."  Then  nudging  him  o'  the  elbow,  having  an  ex- 
ceeding sly  look  with    her,  she  added,    "  Art  thou  not  a 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  105 

rogue,  now — an  especial  rogue — a  very  cozening  rogue, 
to  make  the  flower  of  all  Stratford  to  be  so  taken  with 
thee?" 

"  It  cometh  entirely  of  her  fool  of  a  husband,"  an- 
swered the  vintner,  chuckling  mightily.  "  He  would  al- 
low of  our  being  together  at  all  times,  and  was  ever 
thrusting  of  her,  as  it  were,  into  my  arms.  How  could 
I  help  myself.  I  am  but  a  man,  and  she  so  exquisite 
sweet  a  creature  !  So,  whilst  he  was  humming  and  haw- 
ing to  my  good  dame,  1  had  her  up  in  a  corner,  making 
of  love  to  her  by  the  hour  together." 

"  Fie  on  thee,  Master  Alderman  !  "  s;  Id  she,  shaking 
her  head  as  if  with  a  famous  seriousness.  "  Thou  art  a 
dangerous  man  for  any  poor  woman  to  be  with,  so  I  will 
e'en  be  quit  of  thy  company.  I'faith  thou  art  a  sad 
rogue."  Then  fetching  him  ;i  poke  i'  the  ribs  that  made 
him  gasp  for  breath,  she  hurried  out  of  the  room,  laugh- 
ing more  heartily  than  ever. 

All  this  made  Jonathan  Dowlas  prick  up  his  ears,  and 
he  marvelle  ■  '^ugely  who  could  be  the  frail  wife  his 
neighbor  wa3  enamored  of,  as  he  had  had  no  suspicion 
of  such  a  thing  ;  whereof  the  knowledge  of  it  he  had 
now  gained,  made  him  think  of  his  designs  on  Mistress 
Malmsey  a  proper  punishment  for  his  brother  alderman's 
unpardonable  conduct  towards  his  friend,  whoever  he 
might  be.  Full  of  all  sorts  of  speculations  on  the  mat- 
ter, he  remained  in  his  hiding  place  without  moving  for 
he  could  hear  the  vintner  humming  of  a  tune,  and  walk- 
ing to  and  fro,  and  was  cautious  his  hiding  place  might 
not  be  discovered.  Presently  the  door  opened  and  some 
one  entered,  whom  Master  Malmsey  addressed  in  s  ch 
a  manner  as  made  Jonathan  feel  assured  it  was  the 
very  woman  the  other  declared  he  so  loved.  She  an- 
swered in  so  small  a  voice  she  could  not  be  well  heard 
in  the  draper's  hiding  place  ;  and,  in  a  minute  after,  the 
two  seated  themselves  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room, 
where,  although  he  heard  each  word  his  neighbor  spoke, 
because  of  the  greater  loudness  of  his  speech,  of  his  com- 


106  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

panion  distinguished  he  never  a  word,  it  seemed  to  be 
uttered  in  such  a  whisper.  The  extreme  movingness  of 
the  vintner's  speech  at  last  rilled  his  neighbor  with  so 
absolute  a  curiousness  to  know  who  it  was  the  other  was 
so  intent  upon  loving,  that  he  began,  with  wonderful 
cautiousness,  to  lift  up  a  part  of  the  table  cover,  so  that 
he  might  take  a  peep  without  being  seen. 

The  first  thing  he  got  sight  of  was  neighbor  Malmsey, 
kneeling  on  one  knee  with  his  hand  to  his  heart,  with 
nothing  but  the  most  desperate  and  uncontrollable  affec- 
tion in  his  looks,  and  such  an  absolute  irresistableness  in 
his  speech,  that  it  was  as  if  no  woman  must  stand  against 
it.  Before  him  was  seated  a  female  very  prettily  attired, 
whose  face  being  somewhat  in  the  shade,  and  a  little 
turned  from  him,  Master  Dowlas  could  not  at  all  make 
out.  The  candle  wanted  snuffing  abominably,  or  per- 
chance he  would  have  seen  better. 

"  Prithee  turn  not  away  those  lustrous  eyes,"  exclaim- 
ed the  vintner  in  a  rare  impassioned  manner  ;  "  the  poor 
knave  thy  husband  heedeth  not  their  brightness  ;  and 
that  most  delicious  lip,  that  rivaleth  my  choicest  wines 
in  the  tempting  richness  of  its  hue, — why  should  such  a 
sorry  fellow  as  he  is  have  its  flavor  to  himself,  who  man- 
ifestly careth  not  for  it.  All  my  heart  longeth  bivtafbr  a 
taste.  My  dear  sweet,  prithee  allow  it  but  this  once. 
I  will  be  bound  to  thee  ever  after.  I  will  hold  thee  in 
more  regard  than  my  chiefest  customer.  Come,  we  dal- 
ly with  opportunity.  I  will  be  bold  and  steal  it  an'  thou 
wilt  not  give  after  so  much  asking."  Just  at  this  mo- 
ment the  speaker  made  an  effort  as  if  to  salute  his  com- 
panion, and  she  moving  at  the  same  time  brought  her 
full  face  to  the  light,  and  Jonathan  Dowlas  beheld  his 
own  wife.  A  clap  of  thunder  would  not  have  startled 
him  more  than  such  a  discovery  ;  indeed  so  monstrous 
was  he  moved  at  it  that  he  clean  forgot  where  he  was, 
and  rising  quickly  hit  himself  so  sore  a  crack  o'  the 
crown  against  the  table,  that  he  could  do  nought  for 
some  minutes  after  but  rub  his  pate  and  vow  vengeance 
against  his  false  wife  and  wicked  treacherous  neighbor. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  107 

"  By'r  Lady  now,  I  must  go  up,"  cried  Mistress 
Malmsey  from  below,  so  loud  that  all  heard  her. 

"  O'  my  troth,  here  is  your  wife  coming,  and  if  she 
catch  us  1  shall  be  undone  !  "  exclaimed  Mistress  Dow- 
las, immediately  after  which  the  unhappy  draper  heard 
the  shuffling  of  feet,  and  he  was  left  in  darkness. 

"  Now  if  his  wife  come  here  I  will  have  excellent  re- 
venge," thought  he.  Presently  he  heard  a  door  open, 
and  some  one  cry  out  in  a  whisper — "  Master  Alderman," 
whereupon  he  stealthily  left  his  hiding  place. 

"  Hist  !  "  cried  he,  fumbling  his  way  on  tiptoe  across 
the  room. 

"  Hist ! "  replied  some  one  else,  evidently  making 
towards  him  with  as  little  noise  as  possible. 

"  Prithee  where  art,  my  honey  sweet  ?  "  inquired  the 
former  ;  "  since  thy  departure  here  hath  been  that  most 
wretched  villain,  thy  husband,  seeking  to  do  me  most 
monstrous  wickedness  with  my  wife  ;  but  if  I  pay  him 
not  handsomely  there  is  no  smoothness  in  velvet.  Come 
hither  quick,  my  dear  life,  for  I  am  impatient  to  have 
thee  in  my  most  fond  embrace  !  " 

"  Ha,  indeed  !  "  cried  Master  Malmsey,  who  had  hid 
himself  behind  the  arras  when  his  fair  companion  had 
ran  off  with  the  light,  and  hearing  a  voice  cry  "  Master 
Alderman,"  crept  out  thinking  she  had  returned  to  him. 
"  Take  that  and  be  hanged  to  thee  S  "  whereupon  he 
made  a  blow  ;  but  being  in  the  dark  he  hit  nothing. 

"  Villain,  art  there  !  "  exclaimed  Master  Dowlas  in 
as  towering  a  rage  as  his  neighbor  ;  "  let  me  but  get  at 
thee,  I'll  maul  thee  I  warrant  ;♦"  and  both  proceeded  to 
strike  the  empty  air  in  a  most  terrible  passion  ever  seen 
— ever  and  anon  giving  the  panels  such  famous  thumps 
that  it  made  their  knuckles  smart  again. 

"  Dost  call  this  going  to  hear  a  godly  man  at  Hills- 
borough, thou  traitorous  caitiff?"  sarcastically  asked  the 
vintner,  hitting  on  all  sides  of  him,  and  jumping  here 
and  now  there,  in  his  desire  to  punish  his  false  neighbor. 

"  Ay,  marry,  as  much  as  it  be  going  to  Cdusin  Birch's," 


108  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

retorted  the  other,  coming  on  more  cautiously  and  with 
less  noise,  yet  no  less  intent  on  vengeance.  In  conse- 
quence of  the  one  being  so  wonderful  quick  in  his  move- 
ments, and  the  other  so  quiet  he  could  not  be  heard 
moving,  there  was  no  harm  done  for  a  good  space,  save 
by  hurting  themselves  stumbling  over  chairs  and  the  like, 
which  was  sure  to  make  he  who  was  hurt  in  a  greater 
rage  than  ever,  and  to  be  more  intent  upon  having  his 
vengeance  of  the  other.  It  would  have  been  a  goodly 
sight  to  have  seen  this  precious  pair  of  husbands,  if  they 
could  have  been  seen  in  the  darkness,  each  so  earnest 
upon  punishing  of  the  other  for  the  same  thing  he  was 
himself  guilty  of,  and  giving  vent  to  no  lack  of  ill  names 
and  execrations,  which  he  who  uttered  quite  as  richly 
merited  as  he  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  At  last 
the  vintner  got  within  an  open  door  at  the  top  of  the 
room,  where  the  draper  pounced  upon  him  like  a  cat, 
and  as  they  were  tussling  away  with  all  their  might  it 
was  closed  behind  them  and  fastened  without  their 
knowledge.  Neither  had  the  slightest  idea  he  was  now 
in  a  different  chamber,  for  in  truth  neither  had  time  to 
give  the  matter  a  thought,  each  having  enough  to  do  to 
defend  himself  from  the  other's  hearty  cuffs,  sometimes 
rolling  together  on  the  floor,  and  anon  hustling  each  oth- 
er on  their  legs,  yet  with  no  great  damage  to  either. 
After  some  minutes  spent  this  way  both  left  off,  being 
completely  out  of  breath  with  their  great  exertions. 
Somewhat  to  their  astonishment  they  heard  loud  bursts 
of  laughter  from  the  adjoining  chamber,  and  noticing  the 
light  streaming  from  under  the  door,  both  impelled  by 
the  same  curiousness,  crept  softly  towards  it.  Jonathan 
Dowlas  stooped  to  take  a  peep  at  the  key-hole  ;  Timo- 
thy Malmsey  put  his  eye  to  a  crack  in  the  panel, — each 
was  aware  of  the  other's  vicinity,  but  not  a  word  was 
said  by  either.  They  looked,  and  beheld  a  supper-table 
well  laid,  at  which  two  handsome  gallants  clad  in  deli- 
cate suits,  with  rapier  and  dagger,  were  regaling  them- 
selves and  making  merry,  evidently  to  their  heart's  con- 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  109 

tentment  ;  whilst  the  Widow  Pippins  stood  by  as  if  wait- 
ing upon  them,  and  giving  them  a  narration,  which  she 
seemed  as  though  she  could  scarce  tell  for  laughing. 

•'•'  Indeed,  an*  it  please  your  worships,  it  be  the  very 
excellentest  trick  ever  I  heard  of,"  said  she.,  holding  of 
her  sides.  ;;  Here  came  these  poor  fools  of  husbands, 
each  desperately  enamored  of  his  friend's  wife,  which 
these  merry  women  allowed  of  only  that  they  might  the 
better  punish  them  as  they  deserved.  F  faith,  what  wit- 
tols  must  they  have  been  to  have  fancied  themselves 
likely  to  prevail  with  such.  They  ought  to  have  known 
that  when  a  pretty  woman  is  so  inclined  she  looketh  to 
something  above  her.  There  is  no  temptation  in  it  else. 
Little  guess  Master  Dowlas  and  Master  [Malmsey,  that 
'tis  your  worship's  they  care  for.  and  none  other." 

"'  Here's  a  horrid  villainy  come  to  light  !  "  muttered 
the  draper. 

"  Oh,  what  a  vile  quean  have  I  for  a  wife  !  "  exclaim- 
ed the  enraged  vintner  in  the  same  low  voice. 

"  Little  guess  they  how  oft  you  two  have  had  secret 
meetings  here  with  their  buxom  wives.''  added  the  widow  : 
w  or  what  exquisite  sweet  pleasures  you  have  found  in 
their  delectable  company.'' 

"  O'  my  word,  neighbor,  methinks  we  have  been  foul- 
ly wronged  ! "  cried  Jonathan  in  a  monstrous  dismal 
tone. 

"  'Slight,  there  be  no  doubt  on't !  "  answered  Timo- 
thy, manifestly  in  a  still  worse  to  do.  M  Alack  !  my  head 
aches  horribly." " 

•'•'  By  my  troth.  I  do  feel  a  sort  of  shooting  pain  there 
myself."  added  the  other  rubbing  his  forehead  with  his 
palm  very  dolefully. 

"  I  pray  your  worships,  make  haste."  continued  the 
laughing  widow.  "  There  is  Mistress  Malmsey  below 
stairs,  and  Mistress  Dowlas  in  the  next  chamber  wonder- 
fully impatient  to  have  with  them  their  several  lovers. 
Never  saw  I  women  so  dote  on  men  as  they  dote  ou  your 
worships.     Alack  for  their  simple  husbands  !  " 

vol.  i.  10 


110  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  We've  been  infamously  abused,  neighbor ! "  ex~ 
claimed  the  draper,  whilst  the  others  in  the  next  cham- 
ber were  laughing  very  merrily.  "  As  I  live,  we  are  two 
miserably  wretched  husbands."  And  thereupon,  may- 
hap out  of  sympathy  for  his  brother  in  misfortune,  he 
threw  his  arms  around  his  neck  and  moaned  very  pitifully. 

"  God's  precious  !  1  shall  go  mad  !  "  cried  the  vintner 
lifting  up  one  leg  and  then  the  other,  like  a  goose  tread- 
ing on  hot  bricks.  "  But  shall  we  not  burst  in  on  these 
dainty  gallants,  neighbor,  and  spoil  their  sport  ? " 

"  Nay,  nay,  see  you  not  they  have  weapons,"  whisper- 
ed his  more  cautious  companion.  "  Peradventure  they 
would  give  us  our  deaths  were  we  to  venture  upon  them 
unarmed.  Let  us  seek  to  get  out  of  this  place  as  speed- 
ily as  we  may,  and  find  assistance  ;  doubtless  we  shall 
be  in  time  to  disturb  them  at  their  villanies,  and  so  rid 
ourselves  of  our  cozening  false  wives,  and  be  revenged 
on  their  paramors." 

"  Ha  !  prithee  set  about  it  on  the  instant,"  said  the 
other  ;  then  Master  Dowlas  began  feeling  of  his  way 
along  the  wainscot  with  his  brother  alderman  close  at  his 
heels  doing  the  like  thing,  till  they  came  to  a  door,  which 
was  soon  opened  by  the  former,  and  to  the  great  joy  of 
both,  proved  to  lead  out  into  the  gallery.  From  here 
they  were  not  long  before  they  found  themselves  in  the 
parlor  of  the  house,  where  was  a  famous  company  as- 
sembled of  their  friends  and  neighbors,  among  whom 
were  John  Shakspeare,  the  high  bailiff,  and  Oliver  Dumps 
the  constable.  These  were  quickly  informed  of  the 
grievous  wrong  doing,  in  such  moving  terms,  that  the 
whole  party,  arming  themselves  with  what  weapons  they 
could  conveniently  lay  a  hold  on,  proceeded  under  the 
command  of  their  chief  magistrate  to  seize  upon  the  of- 
fenders. 

"  What  a  villanous  world  is  this  !  "  exclaimed  Oliver, 
putting  on  his  most  melancholy  visage.  "  Marry,  an7 
aldermen's  wives  must  needs  take  to  such  evil  courses, 
how  shall  a  constable's  wife  escape  ?  " 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  Ill 

They  soon  burst  into  the  chamber,  where  they  found 
the  two  gallants  up  in  a  corner  with  their  backs  towards 
them,  with  the  Widow  Pippins  standing  in  a  manner  as 
though  she  would  not  have  her  guests  rudely  meddled 
with. 

"Hullo,  my  masters!"  exclaimed  she.  "  Are  ye 
mad — that  ye  enter  thus  unmannerly  before  two  gentle- 
men of  worship  ?  " 

"  Mind  her  not,  neighbors — she  is  nothing  better  than 
a  very  villanous  go-between  !  "  exclaimed  Master  Alder- 
man Malmsey  in  his  deadly  rage  nourishing  of  a  spit  he 
had  got  in  his  hand  as  if  he  would  do  one  or  other  of 
them  some  dreadful  injury. 

"  These  be  the  same  two  fine  fellows  that  must  needs 
be  meddling  with  our  wives  : — I  will  take  my  oath  o'nt !" 
cried  Master  Alderman  Dowlas  in  a  horrible  bad  passion, 
pointing  towards  them  with  the  kitchen  poker. 

"Down  with  them  !"  shouted  one. 

"Let  us  dispatch  them  straight !  "  bawled  a  second. 

"  By  goles,  we  will  be  their  deaths — the  monstrous 
villains  that  cannot  let  honest  men's  wives  alone,"  cried 
a  third  ;  and  all  seemed  moving  forward  with  mischief 
in  their  looks. 

"  Respect  the  law,  neighbors,  respect  the  law  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  constable,  striving  all  he  could  to  repress  the 
desire  for  instant  vengeance  so  manifest  in  his  compan- 
ions. 

"Ay,  we  must  have  no  violence,  my  masters,"  added 
John  Shakspeare.  "  If  these  persons  have  done  ought 
amiss,  I  will  take  care  they  shall  answer  for  it,  but  I  can- 
not allow  of  their  being  hurt." 

"  Oh,  what  monstrous  behavior  is  this  irf  an  honest 
woman's  house  !  "  cried  the  widow  Pippins. 

"  Stand  aside,  Mistress,  I  prithee,"  exclaimed  Oliver 
Dumps  pushing  by  the  widow,  and  seizing  hold  of  one 
of  the  gallants  by  the  shoulder,  added  in  a  louder  voice, 
"  surrender  you  in  the  queen's  name." 

"  Now    neighbor    Dowlas,"    said     John    Shakspeare, 


112  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  look  you  in  the  face  of  this  one,  and  say  if  you  can 
swear  him  to  be  the  villain  that  playeth  the  wanton  with 
your  wife  :  and  you,  neighbor  Malmsey,  do  the  same 
with  the  other." 

"  I  warrant  you,"  replied  both,  moving  with'  alacrity, 
and  with  the  terriblest  revengeful  aspects  ever  seen,  to 
do  what  their  high  bailiff  had  required.  Each  caught 
hold  of  one  of  the  dainty  young  gentlemen  with  great 
rudeness,  and  poked  his  beard  close  in  his  face,  and  each 
at  the  same  moment  started  back  as  though  he  had  been 
shot,  amid  the  loud  laughter  of  every  one  in  the  room. 
These  gallants  proved  to  be  no  other  than  their  own 
wives  ;  and  all  been  let  in  the  secret  by  them  for  the 
more  complete  punishing  of  their  faithless  husbands. 

"  Go  to,  for  a  sly  fox  !  "  cried  the  widow  .  Pippins, 
giving  Master  Dowlas  just  such  another  famous  slap  of 
the  back  as  she  had  saluted  him  with  on  his  first  entrance 
to  the  chamber.  "  I'faith,  thou  art  a  sad  rogue,"  added 
she,  fetching  Master  Malmsey  so  absolute  a  poke  i'  the 
ribs  that  it  put  the  other  poke,  bad  as  he  had  thought  it, 
clean  out  of  his  remembrance.  The  jests  that  were 
broke  upon  these  poor  aldermen  by  their  neighbors  were 
out  of  all  calculation,  and  they  were  so  ashamed  they 
could  say  never  a  word  for  themselves.  And  indeed 
they  made  a  famous  pretty  figure — their  best  apparel 
being  all  covered  with  dust  and  broken  rushes  from  roll- 
ing on  the  floor,  and  their  hands  and  faces,  hair  and 
beards,  instead  of  being  in  such  delicate  trim  as  when 
they  first  entered  "  The  Rose,"  were  in  as  dirty  a  pickle 
as  was  any  chimney  sweep's,  However,  they  ever  afte,r 
turned  out  to  be  the  best  of  husbands,  and  would  as  lief 
have  taken  a  mad  bull  by  the  horns,  as  sought  to  make 
love  to  another  msm's  wife. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  113 


CHAPTER  V. 


And  then  the  whining  school-bov 
With  satchel  and  shining  morning  face 
Creeping,  like  snail,  unwillingly  to  school. 

Shakspeare. 
Some  there  are, 
Which  by  sophistic  tricks,  aspire  that  name 
Which  I  would  gladly  lose,  of  necromancer  ; 
As  some  that  use  to  juggle  upon  cards, 
Seeming  to  conjure,  when  indeed  they  cheat; 
Others  that  raise  up  their  confederate  spirits 
'Bout  windmills,  and  endanger  their  own  necks 
For  making  of  a  squib ;    and  some  there  are 
Will  keep  a  curtal  to  show  juggling  tricks, 
And  give  out  'tis  a  spirit;  besides  these, 
Such  a  whole  ream  of  almanack-makers,  figure  flingers, 
Fellows,  indeed,  that  only  live  by  stealth, 
Since  they  do  merely  lie  about  stolen  goods, 
They'd  make  men  think  the  devil  were  fast  and  loose, 
With  speaking  fustian  Latin. 

Webster. 

"  Bring  hither  thy  hat,  William,  I  prithee,  'tis  nigh 
upon  school  time,"  said  Dame  Shakspeare  to  her  youug 
son,  as  they  were  together  in  her  chamber. 

"  Ay,  that  is  it,"  replied  he,  doing  what  he  was  de- 
sired with  a  very  cheerful  spirit.  "  'Sooth,  though  I  lack 
knowing  what  manner  of  pleasure  is  found  in  school, 
methinks  it  must  needs  be  none  so  little,  nurse  Cicely 
speaketh  of  it  so  bravely."  The  mother  carefully 
smoothed  the  hat,  and  placed  it  on  her  child's  head, 
smiling  the  whilst,  either  at  what  had  just  fallen  from 
him,  or  mayhap  at  his  exceeding  comeliness,  now  she 
had,  after  infinite  pains-taking,  attired  him  with  such  a 
show  of  neatness  and  cleanliness  as  made  him  appear 
worthy  of  any  mother's  love,  were  she  the  proudest  in 
the  land. 

"  Nay,  school  hath  its  pains  also,"  replied  she ;  "  but 

VOL,    I.  10* 


114 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


such  are  unknown  of  any,  save  unworthy  boys,  who 
care  more  for  play  than  for  book,  and  will  learn  nothing 
that  is  set  them." 

"  Well,  an'  they  behave  so  ill,  it  be  plain  they  deserve 
no  better,"  observed  the  boy.  "  Yet  it  seemeth  to  me, 
from  what  I  have  learned  of  nurse  Cicely  in  ballads  and 
stories,  and  from  such  sweet  verses  as  you  have  oft  times 
repeated  to  me  concerning  of  brave  knights  and  fair  la- 
dies, that  if  other  pleasures  of  a  still  sweeter  sort  are  to 
be  found  in  books,  whereof  you  can  know  only  by  going 
to  school  and  conning  your  lesson  with  all  proper  dili- 
gence, school  cannot  help  being  as  pleasant  a  place  for 
good  boys  as  any  goodly  place  that  can^be  named." 

"Doubtless,"  answered  the  mother,  evidently  pleased 
at  noting  in  her  son  such  sensibleness  at  so  early  an  age. 
Then  she  busied  herself  in  putting  each  part  of  his  dress  as 
it  should  be,  smoothing  this,  and  pulling  down  that,  and 
turning  him  round  with  a  thorough,  yet  most  affectionate 
scrutiny,  that  no  fault  should  escape  her.  At  last,  she 
appeared  satisfied  with  her  labors,  and  hanging  round  his 
neck  a  satchel,  that  looked  as  if  it  contained  no  great 
weight  of  books,  she  quickly  put  on  her  own  hat  and 
cloak,  and  laying  hold  of  him  by  one  hand,  carrying  of 
a  basket  in  the  other,  with  many  cheerful  pleasant  words 
to  his  unceasing  interrogatories,  she  led  him  out  at  the 
door. 

The  good  dame,  and  her  young  son,  proceeded  togeth- 
er through  a  part  of  the  town,  with  such  passing  com- 
mendation and  salutaions  from  such  of  the  neighbors  as 
were  standing  at  their  doors  or  approaching  them  as  they 
went,  till  they  came  to  the  lane  where  John  a  Combe 
was  set  on  by  Master  Buzzard  and  his  man  Saul,  as  hath 
been  related,  when,  in  the  middle  of  some  speech  of  his, 
the  boy  let  go  his  mother's  hand,  and  as  forgetful  of 
school,  of  goodly  books,  and  of  sweet  verses — which  had 
formed  the  staple  of  his  talking  all  along — as  though  such 
things  had  never  been,  he  on  a  sudden,  darted  off  as  fast 
as  he  could  after  a  butterfly  that  came   flying  past  him. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  115 

Dame  Shakspeare  called  many  times,  but  it  appeared  as 
if  he  heard  not  her  voice,  for  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  he 
run,  now  on  one  side  of  the  lane,  now  on  the  other,  and 
now  dodging  hither  and  thither  wheresoever  the  dainty- 
insect  spread  its  delicate  wings,  as  if  there  could  not  be 
in  this  whole  world  any  one  thing  of  such  huge  impor- 
tance to  him  as  the  catching  of  that  butterfly.  At  last, 
his  mother  was  obliged  to  hasten  after  him,  finding  he 
heeded  not  her  calling  called  she  ever  so,  and  succeeded 
in  overtaking  her  little  truant,  just  as  he  stood,  with  his 
hat  thrown  on  the  grass  in  a  vain  essay  to  catch  what  he 
had  been  in  such  earnest  chase  of — with  hands  and  eyes 
uplifted,  watching  with  some  vexedness  in  his  aspect,  the 
swift  retreat  of  the  enticing  insect  over  the  hedge. 

Some  scolding  followed  this  as  the  good  dame  wiped 
her  son's  hot  face,  and  dusted  and  smoothed  his  hat,  and 
set  it  on  his  head  again  ;  but  he  made  such  famous  ex- 
cuses concerning  of  the  marvelous  beautifulness  of  this 
same  butterfly  beyond  all  butterflies  he  had  ever  seen, 
that  the  loving  mother  contented  herself  in  the  end  with 
kissing  him,  and  bidding  him  never  again  run  from  her 
side.  The  great  delight  he  had  found  in  what 
he  had  previously  talked  so  largely  of  now  left  him 
altogether,  and  he  could  say  nought,  save  of  what 
rare  pleasure  would  have  been  his  had  it  been  his  good 
hap  to  have  captured  that  choice  fly,  with  sundry  pertin- 
ent questions  concerning  of  whence  came  such  brave 
toys,  how  lived  they,  and  whether  they  could  not  be  kept 
at  home,  and  fed  on  marchpane,  and  such  other  delicates 
as  he  could  give  them,  to  all  which  she  answered  as  she 
best  could.  On  a  sudden  he  started  a  new  subject,  for 
spying  of  many  wild  flowers  on  the  bank  he  must  needs 
stop  to  gather  some.  In  vain,  his  mother  reminded  him 
of  what  great  promise  he  had  made  of  diligence  in  learn- 
ing, and  alacrity  in  going  to  school,  he  implored  so  mov- 
ingly, she  could  not  help  allowing  him  what  he  required 
of  her  ;  and  this  led  to  his  stopping  at  other  flowers  he 
saw,  to  do  the  like  thing,  making  such  pretty   exclama- 


116  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

tions  of  admiration  at  the  sight  of  them,  that  the  good 
dame  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  speak  of  his  tarry- 
ing as  he  did,  with  any  harshness.  Presently,  a  bird  flit- 
ting through  the  hedge,  would  make  him  pause  in  a 
strange  wonder  to  look  after  it  ;  and  all  his  talk  of  flowers 
in  a  moment  changed  to  as  importunate  a  questioning  upon 
the  birds.  Indeed,  school  now  seemed  to  have  no  more 
charm  for  him  than  hath  the  brightest  landscape  for  a 
blind  man  ;  and  he  kept  so  tarryingTor  this  thing  and  for 
the  other,  as  showed  he  was  in  no  little  reluctance  to  be 
taken  away  from  such  fair  sights. 

Certes,  it  is  a  long  lane  that  hath  no  turning,  and  the 
boy,  with  his  mother,  got  at  last  to  their  journey's  end, 
which  proved  to  be  a  low  mean  building  at  the  outskirts  of 
the  town,  whereof  part  of  the  casement  having  been 
broken,  the  missing  panes  had  been  pasted  over  with 
leaves  of  copy-books.  It  was  a  wooden  building,  crumb- 
ling with  age  in  many  places,  with  a  ragged  thatch,  of  so 
dark  a  color  it  could  not  help  being  of  some  standing, 
underneath  which  were  sundry  nests,  with  the  birds  fly- 
ing in  and  out  ;  and  upon  it,  up  to  the  roof-top,  was  a 
famous  company  of  sparrows,  flitting  about  and  making 
so  great  a  chirrupping  as  was  wonderful  to  hear.  The 
door  being  open,  there  was  heard  a  low  murmuring  as  of 
the  humming  of  a  whole  hive  of  bees,  which  increased 
in  loudness  as  they  came  nearer,  till  it  was  interrupted  by 
a  loud  rough  voice,  calling  out  "  Silence  !  "  when  it  sunk 
a  little.  At  this  moment  they  entered  at  the  door.  They 
came  first  into  a  chamber  with  a  brick  flooring,  where 
they  saw  a  number  of  small  boys  ;  some  seated  upon  old 
forms,  clipped  at  the  corners,  and  carved  with  letters  of 
every  sort,  as  might  be  seen  by  the  empty  ones  ;  and 
others,  in  groups,  standing  before  one  or  two  bigger  boys, 
each  of  whom  held  a  book  as  if  hearing  the  others  their  les- 
sons ;  but  as  soon  as  the  strangers  were  observed,  there 
was  seen  on  the  instant,  an  infinite  lack  of  both  learning 
and  teaching  amongst  all.  One  whispered  to  another — 
others  pointed — and  some  stood  up  to  have  a  better  view  ; 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


117 


and  all  stretched  their  necks,  and  strained  their  eyes,  in 
a  very  absolute  marvel,  as  to  the  intent  of  the  dame  and 
her  son  in  coming  there  at  that  time. 

The  two  were  curiously  aud  stedfastly  gazed  on  by 
every  boy  there,  as  they  advanced  up  two  steps  that  led 
to  a  part  of  the  same  chamber,  having  a  boarded  floor, 
where  were  some  long  desks,  at  which  bigger  boys  had 
been  writing  of  copies,  with  one  of  a  greater  height  at 
the  top,  where  sat  on  a  tall  stool  no  less  a  personage  than 
Stripes  the  schoolmaster,  of  whom  the  reader  hath  already 
some  knowledge.  He  sat  up  stiff  as  a  post;  his  gaunt 
visage  as  thin  and  sharp  as  though  his  ordinary  diet  was 
of  flint  stones,  or  other  such  matter  that  affordeth  won- 
derful poor  nourishment ;  his  hair  and  beard  standing  in 
great  need  of  the  barber's  art  ;  an  old  gaberdine  on,  which 
for  its  rags  the  cursedest  old  Jew  that  ever  clipped  coin 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  have  been  seen  in  ;  his  fall- 
ing bands  rumpled  and  soiled ;  his  bases  open  at  the 
knees,  and  his  hose  in  slovenly  folds  falling  down  his 
shrunk  shanks  to  his  heels,  where  a  pair  of  huge  panto- 
fles,  of  the  oldest  out  of  all  doubt,  hid  in  some  measure 
the  numberless  holes  that  had  there  begun  to  show  them- 
selves. He  held  a  cane  upright  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  a  book,  having  before  him  a  boy,  who,  by  the  earn- 
est scratching  of  his  head,  and  the  intentness  of  his  gaze 
at  the  broken  ceiling,  had  doubtless  come  to  a  halt  in  his 
lesson  ;  and  his  dull  stupid  face  wore  an  aspect  of  severe 
seriousness,  which  boded  no  good  to  the  young  student. 
But  for  all  this, as  he  caught  sight  of  Dame  Shakspeare  with 
her  son  advancing  towards  him,  the  cane  was  put  out  of 
sight  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  a  sort  of  something 
that  was  meant  to  be  a  smile  became  visible  in  his  cadav- 
erous countenance,  as  he  gave  the  unprepared  scholar 
back  his  book,  and  bade  him  to  his  place. 

Marvelous  to  look  on  was  the  suavity  with  which  the 
pedagogue  heard  Dame  Shakspeare  say  she  had  brought 
her  son  William  to  have  his  schooling,  hoping  he  would 
prove  an  apt  scholar ;  thereupon  famously  did  he  launch 


118  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

out  into  all  manner  of  fine  scholar-like  phrases,  whereof 
it  was  in  no  way  easy  for  any  to  find  where  lay  the  sense, 
and  then  proceeded  he  to  catechise  the  child  in  a  mon- 
strous pedantical  humor,  and  to  examine  him  as  to  the 
extent  of  his  acquirements  in  the  rudiments  of  profane 
learning  ;  and  although  the  boy  showed  some  shyness, 
which  was  exceeding  natural  at  his  age,  before  so  forbid- 
ding a  person,  yet,  by  dint  of  his  mother's  praises,  he  was 
got  to  evince  a  tolerable  acquaintance  with  the  spelling 
of  simple  words.  All  this  time  the  curiousness  of  the 
entire  school  exceedeth  conception.  No  sign  of  studious- 
ness  was  visible  in  any  ;  instead  of  which  the  eyes  and 
ears  of  the  whole  assembly  were  bent  upon  getting  the 
completest  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  ;  and  whilst 
some  of  the  highest  part  of  the  school  kneeled  on  their 
seats,  or  leaned  over  their  school-fellows,  sundry  of  the 
bottom  part  stood  on  their  forms,  and  a  few  crept  up  the 
steps,  with  countenances  all  agog  to  learn  as  much  as 
they  could  of  this  strange  matter. 

"  And  I  have  brought  you  here  a  fine  capon  for  your 
own  eating,  worthy  Master  Stripes,"  said  Dame  Shaks- 
peare  to  the  schoolmaster,  whose  mouth  seemed  to  water 
at  the  very  name  of  such  delicate  food,  as  she  took  from 
her  basket  a  fowl  carefully  wrapped  about  in  a  clean 
white  cloth  ;  "  the  which  I  hope  will  prove  to  your  liking, 
and  1  do  trust  you  will  favor  me  in  what  my  heart  most 
covets,  so  much  as  to  give  what  attentiveness  you  can  to 
my  boy's  schooling,  that  he  may  do  you  credit  in  his  after 
years." 

"  I  am  a  very  heathen  an'  I  do  not,"  replied  he,  taking 
the  gift  with  a  famous  willingness. 

"  Then  I  will  now  leave  him  to  your  charge,"  observ- 
ed the  dame,  and,  kissing  of  her  young  son,  with  a  loving 
admonition  to  be  a  good  boy  and  speed  in  his  learning, 
she  departed  out  the  door.  Stripes,  first  placing  of  his 
new  scholar  amongst  others  of  his  age  in  the  lower  room, 
which  movement  of  his  caused  a  famous  show  of  studious- 
ness  amongst  all  the  boys  he  came  nigh,  and  setting  him  a 


THE    tOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  119 

lesson,  returned  to  his  desk  ;  and  then,  undoing  the  cloth7 
examined  the  capon  both  with  his  eyes  and  his  nose,  with 
such  extreme  satisfaction,  it  looked  as  though  he  cared  not 
to  wait  for  the  cooking.  At  last,  putting  it  in  the  cloth 
again,  he  marched  with  it  out  at  a  door  close  upon  his 
desk,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  it  as  he  went.  Scarce  had 
the  door  well  closed  upon  him,  when  there  arose  such  a 
hubbub  in  the  school,  of  talking  and  shouting  one  to  an- 
other of  all  the  boys  concerning  of  the  new  comer  ; 
those  who  had  some  knowledge  of  his  parentage  telling 
others  who  had  none,  and  some  of  the  bigger  boys 
leaving  their  places  to  have  a  closer  view  of  him,  or 
ask  him  questions,  as  seemed  to  astonish  William  Shaks- 
peare  exceedingly  ;  but  he  was  not '  allowed  to  be  in  a 
long  marvel,  for  the  door  opened  presently,  and  then 
there  was  an  instant  scuttling  to  places,  and  an  infinite 
affectation  of  attentiveness  everywhere.  Speedily  as 
this  was  done  it  escaped  not  the  eye  of  the  master,  who 
seized  on  his  cane  in  a  twinkling  as  soon  as  he  had  en- 
tered, with  an  eye  of  severe  menace,  and  thundered  out 
his  commands  for  sundry  of  the  offenders  to  come  up  to 
him  without  delay  ;  for  although  he  was  so  obsequious  in 
his  spirit  before  Sir  Nathaniel  and  others  he  was  fearful 
of  offending,  no  greater  a  tyrant  ever  lived  than  was  he 
to  his  scholars. 

"  So,  Jemmy  Sheepshanks !  "  cried  he,  as  the  first  of- 
fender approached  him  with  some  backwardness  ;  "  pri- 
thee, what  need  hadst  out  of  thy  proper  seat  without  any 
color  of  warrant,  thou  horribly  abominable  young 
caitiff?" 

"An'  it  please  you,  master,  I  only " 

".Silence  !  "  shouted  the  pedagogue  in  a  voice  that 
appeared  to  make  the   little    culprit  shake  in   his  shoes. 

"  Art  not  ashamed  to  have  accommodated  thy  worth- 
lessuess  with  the  graces  of  my  instruction  for  so  long  a 
time  as  thou  hast,  and  never  so  much  as  brought  me  a 
single  egg,  much  less  a  fine  capon,  such  as  worthy  Dame 
Shakspeare,  ou  her  first  coming,  hath  appurtenanced  me 


120  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

with — and  thy  mother  having  such  a  prodigal  store  of 
poultry  ?  By  Jove,  his  searching  thunders  !  thou  art  as 
barren  of  good  fruit  as  a  whipping-post.  Prithee,  hold 
me  thy  digital  extremity." 

"  In  good  fay,  master,  I  only  went " 

"  Thy  hand,  Jemmy  Sheepshanks  !"  bawled  Stripes. 
in  a  manner  which  brought  forth  a  right  dolorous  wail- 
ing, and  the  tremulous  projection  of  a  palm  of  consid- 
erable dirtiness  a  few  inches  before  the  offender's  stom- 
ach. "  Elevate  it  somewhat  1  "  continued  he,  eyeing 
the  shaking  ringers  as  a  vulture  would  the  prey  he 
was  about  to  sweep  down  upon.  "  Somewhat  more  I" 
added  he  in  a  louder  voice ;  and  whack  went  the  de- 
scending cane  across  the  dirty  little  hand.  "  Ya !" 
screamed  the  boy,  and  thereupon  he  doubled  himself 
up  as  if  he  had  an  inward  pain  of  great  fierceness,  and 
then  he  shook  his  hand  and  rubbed  it  against  his  jerkin, 
and  held  it  in  the  other,  as  though  he  had  a  hot  cin- 
der in  it,  and  made  such  a  yelling  all  the  whilst  as  was 
pitiful  to  hear. 

"  And  now  thy  sinister  manus  ;  for  methinks  it  be 
very  monstrous  injustice  one  should  'scape,  and  the  other 
not,"  observed  the  schoolmaster,  getting  his  weapon  in 
readiness. 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  good  Master  Stripes  !"  roared  the 
urchin  in  a  deprecating  tone  ;  but  he  was  not  let  off  so 
easy,  for  the  left  hand  presently  fared  as  badly  as  the 
right,  and  then,  with  a  parting  crack  o'  the  crown  for 
jerking  his  hand  away,  so  that  the  pedagogue  missed  it 
more  than  once,  Jemmy  Sheepshanks  in  a  terrible  up- 
roar was  sent  back  to  his  seat.  The  rest  of  those  who 
had  been  called  up  looked  on  as  though  they  would 
have  given  all  they  were  worth  to  have  been  a  good 
hundred  miles  from  the  spot.  The  other  boys  were 
studying  of  their  separate  tasks  with  a  seeming  diligence 
that  could  never  have  been  exceeded,  and  their  new 
schoolfellow  was  thinking  in  his  mind,  from  this  first  ex- 
ample he  had  had  of  school,  it  was  no  such  brave  place 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  121 

after  all.  Each  of  the  offenders  went  through  the  same 
discipline,  save  the  last,  and  was  as  well  reminded  as  the 
first  had  been  of  certain  remissness  on  his  part  in  not 
having  brought  some  nice  thing  or  other  for  their  worthy 
master. 

"  Ha,  Mat  Turnspit  !  thou  art  most  superlatively  of* 
fensive  !"  exclaimed  the  pedagogue,  looking  at  the  re- 
maining one  with  the  same  savage  aspect  as  had  been 
the  forerunner  of  the  other's  punishments.  "  I  have 
cast  up  the  sum   of    thy   offences,    the  product   whereof 


"  An'  it  please  you,  master,  father  killed  a  hog  last 
night,"  cried  out  the  boy  sharply,  yet  not  without  some 
trepidation. 

"  Marry,  what  then  ?  The  particularities — the  con- 
clusion, 1  prithee  !"  cried  his  master. 

"  An'  it  please  you,"  answered  little  Mat,  '.*  mother 
told  me  to  say,  an'  your  worship's  stomach  stood  in  any 
way  affected  towards  pig's  chitlings,  she  woud  send  you 
as  famous  a  dish  of  them  as  should  delight  the  cockles  of 
your  heart  mightily." 

"Thy  mother,  1  would  wager  to  be  as  honest  a  wo- 
man as  any  of  her  inches,"  observed  Stripes,  his  aspect 
of  a  sudden  changing  to  an  absolute  graciousness. 
"  And  touching  pig's  chitlings,  I  would  have  thee  com- 
municate to  her  auditories,  I  consider  them  as  savoury 
diet  as  any  thing  that  can  be  eaten,  and  will  accept  of  a 
dish  with  abundance  of  thanks.  As  for  thyself,  Mat 
Turnspit,  I  doubt  not  thou  hadst  excellent  cause  for 
being  out  of  thy  seat.  Get  thee  back  again  straight, 
and  be  sure  thy  remembrance  plays  not  the  truant  with 
the  pig's  chitlings." 

After  this,  the  first  class  were  called  up  to  their  read- 
ing lesson,  and  putting  up  their  copies,  each  holding  of 
a  book,  presently  stood  in  a  half  circle  before  their 
teacher,  who,  seated  on  his  high  stool,  with  his  cane  in 
his  hand,  and  the  lesson  before  him,  never  failed  to  ap- 
ply the  former  to  the  palms  of   such  as  were  amiss   in. 

VOI/.  fc  11 


122  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

their  reading — constantly  commenting  on  the  exceeding 
properness  of  behavior  shown  by  Dame  Shakspeare  and 
Dame  Turnspit,  in  the  matter  of  the  fat  capon  and  the 
pig's  (shilling's.  All  this  while  there  was  a  famous  think- 
ing going  on  in  the  young  mind  of  the  new  scholar, 
whose  faith  in  the  pleasantness  of  schools  diminished 
with  every  blow  he  heard  given,  till  at  last  he  came  to 
the  conclusion,  that  it  was  the  very  horriblest  bad  place 
he  had  ever  entered  :  nevertheless  he  applied  himself  to 
his  lesson  as  earnestly  as  he  might,  with  no  greater  inter- 
ruption than  what  came  from  some  little  neighbor  sidling 
up  to  him  with  a  civil  speech,  intent  upon  being  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  a  schoolfellow  so  well  recommended 
of  their  master. 

As  Stripes  was  very  furious  lecturing  of  a  boy,  about 
to  undergo  the  customary  discipline,  the  door  behind  him 
opened,  and  there  appeared  at  it  a  strange  looking  ob- 
ject in  the  likeness  of  an  overgrown  boy.  To  all  ap- 
pearance, the  schoolmaster  looked  as  lean  a  dog  as  ever 
licked  an  empty  trencher,  but  he  was  of  a  very  corpulen- 
cy in  comparison  with  the  walking  bunch  of  bones 
known  throughout  the  town  as  Skinney  Dickon,  the 
schoolmaster's  boy,  that  now  entered  the  school-room. 
His  face  had  the  projecting  jaws  of  a  ravenous  crocodile, 
with  the  complexion  of  a  kite's  foot,  and  his  rusty  hair 
straggled  over  his  skull  like  a  mop  worn  to  the  very  stump 
— this  was  supported  on  a  long  thin  neck  bare  of  all 
clothing  to  the  shoulder  blade,  where  a  leather  jerkin, 
made  for  a  boy  half  his  size,  was  buttoned  tight  with  a 
small  skewer  (for  lack  of  buttons,  which  had  all  been 
Worn  off),  whereof  the  sleeves  came  only  to  his  elbows, 
shewing  his  naked  arms,  like  the  picked  drum  sticks  of 
some  huge  fowl,  with  the  claw  left  on.  A  pair  of  grea- 
sy gaskins,  that  seemed  as  though  they  had  been  made 
for  a  grasshopper,  encased  the  lower  part  of  his  body  to 
his  knees,  below  which  two  bare  legs,  as  barren  of  calf 
as  an  andiron,  descended  till  they  were  partly  lost  sight 
of  in  two  old  shoes,  whereof  the  wide  gaping  of  the  up- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  123 

per  leathers  told  plainly  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  own- 
er's ten  toes. 

"  How  now,  Dickon  !  "  exclaimed  his  master,  as  soon 
as  he  became  aware  of  the  other's  vicinity. 

"An'    it    pul-pul-pul-pul,    please   your  worship,    the 
kick-kick-kirk-kick  cat's  run  off  with  the  kick-kick-kick- 
kick  capon."     Scarce  had  the  words  got  loose  from    the 
chopping  teeth  of  his  stuttering  boy,  ere  Stripes  jumped 
from  his  stool  with  a  ludicrous  astounded  look,  and  brush- 
ing by  his  intelligencer  with   such    furiousness  as   to   lay 
him  his  length  on  the  floor,  sought  the  thief,  swearing  all 
sorts   of  horrible  oaths   and    direful    imprecations  ;  after 
running  frantically  to  and  fro,   the  enraged    schoolmaster 
spied  puss  on  a  shelf  in  an  outhouse,  tearing  up  the  flesh 
of  the  fowl  after  a  fashion  as  evinced  her  appreciation  of 
its  goodness.      She   was    an  old,    Urge,    black    animal, 
whose    projecting    ribs   manifested    the    like    relationship 
with  famine  as  appeared  in  the  master  and  his  boy  ;  and 
made  desperate  by  extreme  hunger,  she  raised  her  back, 
glared  with  her  green  eyes,  and*  commenced  so  brisk    a 
spitting  and  swearing,    as  the  schoolmaster,  in  a  terrible 
tearing  passion,  began   cutting   at   her   with    his   cane — 
though  at  a  respectful  distance — as  proved  she  would  not 
be  got  to  part  with  her  prize  without  a  tustle  ;   and  may- 
hap he  would  have  been  but  badly   off  had  she  flown  at 
him,  the  which  she  appeared  monstrously   inclined  to   do, 
but  at  this   moment   she  spied    Dickon    hastening  to  the 
rescue  with  the  stump  of  a  broom,  which  caused  her  to 
make   a  movement   as  though  she   would   carry  off  her 
booty — however,    before  she  had  got  a  firm    hold  of  the 
fowl  with  her  old  teeth,  Dickon  gave  her  so  sore   a  blow 
with  his  weapon  as  sent   her  flying  off  the  shelf'  into  an 
open  water-but  thnt  stood  a  yard  or  so  ofTwhereupon  she 
was  glad  enough  to  save  her  nine  lives  the   best  way  she 
could,  as  if  capons  had  never  been. 

This  occurred  not  without  some  stir  in  the  school  ; 
but  scarce  had  Stripes  returned  to  his  desk  after  placing 
of  his  heart's   treasure  in   a    place  of  safety,   when    his 


124  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

anatomy  of  a  boy  again  made  his  appearance  at  the  open 
door,  at  sight  of  whom  he  opened  his  lanthorn  jawsy 
quite  aghast  with  surprise,  thinking  that  the  villainous 
cat  had  again  made  away  with  his  dainty  ;  but  Dickon 
came  only  to  announce  the  arrival  of  one  Mother  Fly- 
trap on  an  errand  of  conjuring,  which  speedily  allayed 
his  mater's  alarm.  Dismissing  the  class  to  their  seats 
with  a  perilous  threat  kept  they  not  as  quiet  as  mice  till 
his  return,  the  pedagogue  stalked,  with  an  air  of  marvel- 
lous solemnity — little  in  accordance  with  his  slovenly 
gaunt  figure — into  an  inner  chamber,  meanly  furnished 
with  an  old  table  and  a  chair  or  two,  yet  having,  in  the 
shape  of  a  globe  in  the  window,  a  snake  in  a  bottle  over 
the  chimney,  and  a  curious  hieroglyphic  book  spread  out 
upon  the  table  :  various  signs  that  it  was.  in  especial  use 
for  learned  purposes.  A  little  woman,  whose  shrivelled 
skin  savored  of  some  antiquity,  stood  in  a  corner  of  the 
chamber,  in  a  grey  cloak  and  peaked  hat,  leaning  with 
both  hands  upon  a  stick  she  held  before  her. 

"  An'  it  please  your  Worship,"  began  she,  parting  the 
exceeding  closeness  of  her  nose  and  chin,  and  hobbling 
two  steps  forward  as  Stripes  entered,  "  be  it  known  to 
you,  of  all  the  days  in  the  year,  last  Wednesday  was  a 
week,  wanting  of  a  spoon  for  a  gossip  of  mine — as  wor- 
thy a  good  soul  as  ever  broke  bread,  for  all  it  hath  been 
said  of  her  she  (aketh  to  her  aquae  vita?  bottle  more  than 
is  becoming  in  an  honest  woman  : — :but  Lord  !  Lord  ? 
who  shall  escape  the  bruit  of  slanderous  tongues  in 
this  cantankerous  age  ; — as  I  was  a  saying,  over  a  sea- 
coal  fire,  at  Dame  Marigold's — who  was  making  as  fa- 
mous a  bowl  of  spiced  ale,  with  a  roasted  crab,  as  ever 
passed  mortal  lips.  Indeed,  of  all  women  I  know,  an' 
it  please  your  worship,  she  excelleth  in  the  brewing  of 
such  delicate  liquor;  and  last  sheep-shearing  I  did  hear 
little  Jack  Maggot,  of  Maggot  Mill — he  that  got  his 
head  broke  at  a  bout  at  single  stick  with  Job  Styles,  the 
hedger  of  our  town — say  he  knew  none  of  these  parts 
that  had  such  cunning  in   these  preparations.     Mercy  o? 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  125 

my  heart  !  I  have  known  the  time  when  Job  Styles 
was  better  off  than  he  is,  by  a  good  ten  crowns  a  year. 
But  we  are  all  mortal.1' 

"  Hast  lost  a  spoon  ?"  enquired  the  schoolmaster, 
when  his  companion  stopped  to  take  breath. 

"  Ay,  many,"  replied  Mother  Flytrap,  "  as  goodly  a 
silver  Evangelist  as  you  shall  find  come  of  any  god-fath- 
er ;  and  the  only  one  of  the  four  left.  O'  my  word, 
it  vexeth  me  to  find  the  world  groweth  every  day  more 
dishonest  ;  and  no  more  heed  is  taken  of  so  godly  a  gift 
as  an  Evangelist  spoon,  than  of  a  dish  of  beans.  Well 
— flesh  is  grass  :  so  it's  what  we  must  all  come  to — 
more's  the  pity — more's  the  pity." 

"When  lost  thou  this  spoon?"  asked  Stripes. 

"  Marry,  an'  it  please  your  worship,  I  know  not,"  re- 
plied bis  companion  ;  "  but  last  Wednesday  was  a  week, 
as  I  have  said,  when  it  was  getting  nigh  upon  noon,  I 
had  made  me  a  porridge  fit  for  the  Sophy,  with  good 
store  of  leeks  in  it,  for  my  dinner,  when  who  should  en- 
ter at  my  door  but  Gammer  Bavins,  whose  son  went  to 
the  wars  and  died  beyond  seas  ;  whereupon  desiring  of 
her  to  rest  herself,  as  in  all  civilness  I  was  bound, 
seeing  that  her  mother's  cousin's  great  uncle  and 
my  grannum  were  cousins-german,  1  asked  of  her  to 
have  some  of  my  famous  porridge,  to  the  which  she 
cheerfully  gave  her  consenting  ;  and  thinking  'twould 
be  but  respectful  of  me  to  allow  of  her  having 
a  silver  spoon  instead  of  a  latten  one,  the  whilst  she 
was  telling  of  me  an  excellent  famous  story  of  what 
brave  eating  was  in  porridge  such  as  she  was  wont  to 
make  for  her  gaffer  when  he  came  home  from  the  woods 
— for  your  worship  must  know  he  had  been  a  woodman, 
and  of  some  repute  in  the  craft — and  how  monstrously 
he  took  to  it  when  she  could  chop  in  a  handsome  piece 
of  bacon  fat,  with  a  pinch  of  mustard — though  for  mine 
own  part  methinks  good  hog's  lard  in  some  quantity, 
with  a  sprinkling  of  bay  salt,  giveth  much  the  delijater 
flavor " 

vol.  i.  11* 


126 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


"  So  the  spoon  was  missing  ?"  here  put  in  the  school- 
master. 

"  La  you  !  what  a  wonderful  conjuror  is  your  wor- 
ship!" exclaimed  Mother  Flytrap,  lifting  up  her  hands 
and  eyes  in  amazement ;  "  ay,  was  it :  and  though  I  have 
since  searched  high  and  low  in  every  crack  and  cranny 
hole  and  corner  from  housetop  to  floor,  if  I  have  caught 
as  much  as  a  glimpse  of  it  there  is  no  hotness  in  ginger. 
Perad  venture ' ' 

"  Thou  hast  come  to  learn  of  thy  missing  spoon  V 
said  Stripes,  knowing  full  well  should  he  let  her  run  on 
there  would  be  no  stopping  of  her  tongue. 

"  Odds  codlings,  yes,  an'  it  please  you,"  replied  she  : 
"  well  !  never  saw  I  your  like  at  finding  out  things :  as 
1  live  I  said  not  a  word  of  the  sort.  Mayhap  your  wor- 
ship knoweth  whom  I  suspect  of  stealing  it  ;  and  by  my 
troth  I  doubt  not  it  shall  be  found  without  some  grounds, 
for  she  hath  the  reputation  of  a  horrible  pilferer." 

"  Thy  suspicions  rest  upon  a  woman !"  answered 
Stripes,  with  a  very  proper  solemnity. 

"  A  grace  of  God  !  your  worship  must  needs  have 
dealings  with  the  old  one  !"  cried  his  companion  in  a 
famous  astonishment  ;  "  Marian  Loosefish  be  as  nigh  to 
a  woman  as  ever  she  will  be,  for  she  hath  had  two  chil- 
dren and  never  a  husband,  and  hath  been  thrice  put  into 
the  stocks  for  misbecomingness.  But  we  are  all  mortal. 
More's  the  pity — more's  the  pity  !" 

"  And  thou  wouldst  have  me  ascertain  by  virtue  of 
my  art  with  what  correctness  thou  dost  suspect  this  wo- 
man ?"  added  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Ay,  dear  heart,  out  of  all  doubt,  and  I  have  brought 
your  worship  as  exquisite  nice  a  black-pudding  as  ever 
was  made,"  answered  the  other,  producing  from  under 
htr  cloak  a  large  sausage  of  this  sort,  which  her  com- 
panion eased  her  of  with  marvellous  alacrity ;  "  and 
will,  besides,  give  your  worship  a  tester  for  your  paiss, 
provided  you  can  put  the  stealing  of  it  upon  her  with 
such  certainty  she  shall  never  be  able  to  deny  it,  and  so 
1  get  back  my  spoon  again." 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  127 

"  Prithee  stay  where  thou  art,  and  keep  strict  si- 
lence," said  the  schoolmaster,  with  a  very  earnest  seri- 
ousness, as  he  took  a  long  black  wand  out  of  a  corner, 
and  put  on  his  head  a  strange  looking  conical  cap  of  a 
blood-red  color,  which  made  his  visage  look  all  the  more 
lean  and  ghastly  ;  then  gazed  he  with  terrible  seventy 
on  his  book,  turning  over  the  leaves  for  some  minutes, 
Mother  Flytrap  looking  on  with  a  fearful  curiousness,  as 
dumb  as  a  stone. 

':  Mercury  in  the  sixth  house,"  muttered  the  conjurer 
as  if  to  himself. 

•;  I  warrant  you  that  is  my  house  ;  for  mine  is  just 
the  sixth  in  the  row  as  you  enter  the  town,"  observed 
she. 

"  Silence,  woman  !"  shouted  Stripes,  authoritative- 
ly, then  presently  added  in  an  under  tone — "  Jupiter  and 
\enusin  conjunction,  whereof  the  affinities  in  equilib- 
rio  being  geometrical  to  their  qualities,  giveth  sign  of 
some  heavy  metal,  of  an  express  white  color,  and  in 
shape  of  some  narrowness,  with  a  concavity  at  the  de- 
termination. Ha!  what  meaneth  this  ! — Diana  under  a 
cloud ' 

"  That's  her,  an'  it  please  you  !"  said  Mother  Flytrap, 
eagerly  ;  "  She  hath  been  '  under  a  cloud  '  at  sundry 
several  times,  which  be  well  known  of  many,  for  she  is 
as  absolute  a " 

"  Peace,  I  tell  thee  !"  bawled  the  conjuror  ;  "  wouldst 
turpify  my  astrologicals  ?  Prithee  hold  thy  prate:"  af- 
ter which  he  continued  without  other  interruption  a  deal 
more  of  similar  heathenish  words.  "  My  art  telleth  me 
these  three  things,"  observed  he  to  her  at  last,  as  grave 
as  any  judge  ;  "Jo  wit — thy  spoon  hath  been  stolen,  an' 
thou  hast  not  mislaid  it  in  some  secret  place  ; — provided 
a  thief  hath  got  it,  there  shall  be  no  doubt  it  hath  been 
stolen  ; — and  should  it  be  found  upon  Marian  Loosefish, 
beyond  all  contradicting  she  may  be  suspected  of  the 
theft." 

"  Wonderful !"    cried    the  old    woman,   in   a     huge 


128  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

amazement;  "of  all  conjuring  never  heard  I  of  any- 
thing like  unto  this  !  I  would  have  sworn  it  was  her  be- 
fore your  worship  had  told  me  a  letter  of  her  name  ;  for 
1  have  all  along  suspected  her  and  no  other.  1  protest  1 
am  in  so  great  an  admiration  of  your  worship's  marvel- 
lous deep  knowledge*!  scarce  know  what  to  be  at. 
Odds  codlings,  what  wonders  the  world  hath  !  " 

"  At  thy  peril,  speak  another  word  till  1  tell  thee  !" 
exclaimed  the  reputed  conjuror,  in  a  formidable  solemn 
voice,  as  if  desirous  of  still  more  impressing  his  custom- 
er with  his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  occult  science  :  "  I 
charge  thee  make  no  manner  of  noise,  else  ill  will  befall 
thee.  I  would  know  more  of  this  matter,  and  will  have 
my  familiar  to  acquaint  me  with  the  particularities."  At 
this  the  old  dame,  dumb  with  extreme  fright  and  curious- 
ness,  backed  herself  into  a  corner  of  the  chamber,  as 
Stripes,  waving  of  his  wand  mysteriously,  and  repeating 
some  unintelligible  jargon,  stalked  round  and  round  the 
table.  All  at  once  they  heard  a  horrible  strange  sort  of 
sound,  like  unto  the  deep  grunting  of  an  over  fed  hog, 
which  the  conjuror,  in  ignorance  of  its  cause,  fancied  to 
be  something  unnatural  coming  to  punish  him  for  his 
vain-glorious,  boast  of  intimacy  with  a  familiar,  and 
straightway  stopped  his  conjurations  ;  and  Mother  Fly- 
trap, too  frightened  to  speak,  hearing  the  sounds,  and 
observing  the  half-starved  black  cat  at  this  moment  push 
her  way  through  the  unclosed  door, — her  back  raised 
and  her  eyes  glaring  as  she  caught  sight  of  her  master 
with  the  uplifted  wand,  supposing  he  was  about  to  pun- 
ish her  for  her  dishonesty, — had  no  doubt  she  was  a  de- 
mon invoked  by  the  schoolmaster,  and  thereupon  striking 
out  with  her  slick  convulsively  before  her,  she  com- 
menced crouching  down  into  the  corner,  every  time  ut- 
tering of  a  scream  so  piercing  it  seemed  as  though  she 
were  about  giving  up  the  ghost. 

Her  outcry  soon  brought  Skinny  Dickon  into  the 
chamber,  who,  spying  of  the  two  in  such  a  terrible  mon- 
strous fear,   looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  his  jaws 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  .  129 

gaping  like  a  hungry  pike,  till  hearing  of  the  strange  un- 
earthly sound,  and  seeing  his  master  had  been  at  his  con- 
jurations, a  horrible  suspicion  seemed  to  come  across  him 
of  a  sudden  ;  and  he  dropped  on  his  knees,  as  though  he 
had  been  shot.  Presently,  some  of  the  scholars  came 
creeping  towards  the  door,  the  back  ones  peeping  over 
the  forward  one's  shoulders,  with  aspects  alarmed  and 
anxious  ;  and  the  old  woman's  screams  continuing,  sun- 
dry of  the  neighbors  rushed  in  at  another  door  by  which 
she  had  herself  entered,  marvelling  prodigiously  to  hear 
such  a  disturbance  ;  and  marvelling  the  more,  to  note 
what  they  beheld  at  their  entrance. 

"  In  God's  name,  neighbor,  what  meaneth  this  strange 
scene  ?"  enquired  a  sober  honest-looking  artisan,  in  his 
leather  apron  and  cap,  gazing  from  one  to  an  other  of 
the  group  in  famous  astonishment. 

"  Ya !"  screamed  Mother  Flytrap,  again  crouching 
down  in  the  corner,  and  poking  out  her  stick,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  object  of  her  exceeding  terror,  as 
though  it  held  a  spell  over  her. 

"  Mum-mum-mum-mum-Master's  been — rer-rer-rer-rer 
-raising  the  devil  !  "  stuttered  out  Dickon,  as  plain  as 
he  could,  for  the  fright  he  was  in. 

"  Ya  !  "  repeated  the  old  woman,  with  the  same*look 
and  gesture. 

"  He's  there?"  muttered  the  trembling  schoolmaster, 
pointing  to  a  closet  whence  the  sounds  seemed  to  pro- 
ceed ;  whereupon  there  was  an  instant  backward  move- 
ment of  his  neighbors,  save  only  the  artizan  :  and  the  old 
woman  screamed  more  lustily  than  ever,  for  she  believed 
the  cat  was  meant,  as  having  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the 
animal,  she  had  not  seen  where  the  frightened  pedagogue 
had  pointed. 

"  With  the  Lord's  help,  mayhap,  I  will  unkennel  him. 
if  there  he  be,"  observed  the  artisan,  making  a  forward 
movement. 

"Nay,  o'  my  life,  David  Hurdle,  thou  must  be  mad, 
sure  ?"  exclaimed  one  ;  and  others   cried  out  against  his 


130 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


seeking  of  such  danger,  and  many  were  for  holding  him, 
to  prevent  his  destruction,  as  they  thought. 

"  Fear  nought,"  said  the  artisan,  breaking  from  his 
alarmed  neighbors;  "  we  are  in  the  Lord's  hands.  He 
will  not  deliver  his  people  into  the  power  of  the  spoiler. " 
Then  walking  boldly  up  to  the  closet,  the  door  of  which 
he  fearlessly  opened,  he  added,  in  a  firm  voice,  l>  I 
charge  thee,  if  thou  art  an  unclean  spirit,  depart  from 
the  dwelling  of  this  man." 

•  The  interior  was  too  dark  for  any  there  to  see  into, 
therefore  was  nothing  visible  ;  but  the  terror-struck  peo- 
ple noticed  the  instantaneous  stoppage  of  that  smother- 
ed grunting  which  sounded  so  unearthly ;  and  could 
plainly  enough  distinguish  a  rustling  as  of  some  one  mov- 
ing, which  again  caused  an  instant  rush  to  the  door. 

"  I  charge  thee  begone  !"  cried  David  Hurdle,  un- 
dauntedly. 

"  What  dost  charge  me  ?"  grumbled  a  deep  thick 
voice  from  the  closet.  "Prithee,  keep  it  on  the  score, 
and  give  us  'tother  pot.     Eh,  Ticklebreech  ?" 

"  As  I  live  'tis  Sir  Nathaniel  !"  cried  several  voices 
at  once,  to  the  wonderful  relief  of  the  rest  ;  and  sure 
enough,  Sir  Nathaniel  it  was,  who,  after  so  absolute  a  ca- 
rouse the  previous  night  with  his  customary  boon  com- 
panions, his  senses  had  completely  left  him,  had  returned 
home  with  the  schoolmaster,  without  whose  knowledge 
he  had  thrust  himself  into  the  closet,  where  he  had  been 
snoring  the  whole  morning,  coiled  up  like  a  monstrous 
caterpiller  ;  whereby  he  had  put  so  sudden  a  stop  on  his 
friend's  conjurations,  and  had  nigh  driven  Mother  Fly- 
trap out  of  her  five  wits. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  131 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  mery  lark,  mesengere  of  the  day, 
Saluteth  in  her  song  the  rnorowe  gray  ; 
And  firie  Phebus  ryseth  up,  so  bright 
That  all  the  orient  laugheth  at  the  sight : 
And  with  his  strernis  dryeth  in  the  greves, 
The  silver  dropis  hanging  in  the  leves. 

Chaucer. 
For  1  am  servant  of  the  lawe, 
Covecouse  is  myne  owne  felovve. 

Old  Moralitt. 
Out  on  you  theefles,  bouth  two  ! 
Eich  man  maye  see  you  be  soe, 

Alby  your  arraye 
Muffled  in  mantles  none  such  I  know, 
I  shall  make  you  lowte  full  lowe, 

Or  I  departe  you  froe. 

ANTICHRI8T. 

Master  Buzzard  sat  at  a  table  eating  of  a  pasty- 
made  of  game  birds,  and  ever  and  anon  flinging  a  bone 
to  one  of  the  many  dogs  looking  wistfully  up  at  him.  He 
was  taking  of  his  morning  repast  in  the  same  hall  of  his, 
which  hath  before  been  described,  at  interims  enjoying 
frequent  and  plentiful  draughts  at  a  tankard  that  stood 
close  at  his  trencher  ;  and  then  again,  swearing  lustily  at 
such  of  the  dogs  who,  in  their  impatience  to  have  of  the 
delicate  victual,  mayhap  would  leap  to  hisJap,  or  re- 
mind him  of  their  nearness  by  giving  him  a  smart  blow 
of  the  leg  with  one  of  their  fore-paws.  At  a  respectful 
distance,  with  his  hat  on  his  knees,  and  his  stick  beside 
it,  sat  the  shrunk-up  figure  and  parchment  physiognomy 
of  Jemmy  Catchpole,  the  town  lawyer,  seneschal,  baliff, 
attorney,  and  steward,  as  he  was  indifferently  styled. 

"  All  precepts  have  been  served,  an'  it  please  you," 
observed  Jemmy  Catchpole  ;  "we  have  him  in  fee  sim- 
ple with  fine  and  recovery,  but  the  defendant  pleadeth 
extreme  poverty,  and    prayeth  in  aid    that  the   suit  may 


132  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

be  stopped  from  and  after  the  determination  of  the  last 
action,  else  shall  he  be  forced  to  sueh  shifts  as-shall  put 
your  honor's  hand  and  seal  to  his  ruin,  and  cut  the  en- 
tail from  all  remainders  in  perpetuity — in  witness  where- 
of he  hath  but  now  demised,  granted,  and  to  farm-let 
his  desire  to  me  that  I  might  be  a  feodary  in  this  act  for 
such  an  intervallum  as  your  honor  may  please  to  allow." 
"  An  I  wait  another  hour  I'll  be  hanged  !"  rudely  ex- 
claimed Master  Buzzard,  thumping  the  table  with  his 
fist  with  such  force  as  to  startle  some  of  the  hawks. 
"If  he  hath  not  the  means  of  paying  his  bond,  strip  him 
of  what  he  hath.  What !  Shall  I  lend  my  money  to 
a  paltry  burgess,  and  he  dome  ill  offices,  and  then,  when 
cometh  time  for  payment,  shall  such  a  fellow  think  to  get 
off  by  whining  a  dolorous  plaint  concerning  of  his  pov- 
erty ?  'Slife  !  when  I  let  him,  cut  me  into  collops  for 
my  hounds." 

"  As  your  honor  wills  it,"  replied  the  lawyer  ;  "  then 
will  I,  without  let  or  hindrance,  plea  or  demurrer,  make 
an  extent  upon  his  house  and  lands,  immediately  provid- 
ed in  that  case  he  doth  not  give  instant  quittance  for  his 
obligation.'' 

"  Make  him  as  barren  as  a  rotten  branch,"  cried  the 
other,  with  a  frowning  indignant  look  that  spoke  as  bit- 
terly as  his  words.  "  At  one  swoop  bear  off  his  whole 
possessions.  By  God's  body,  an'  thou  leavest  him  as 
much  as  would  keep  his  beggarly  soul  for  a  day,  I  will 
have  nought  to  do  with  thee  ever  after." 

"I  am  mortgaged  to  your  honor's  will,"  observed  his 
companion  very  humbly,  as  he  took  his  hat  and  stick  in 
his  hand,  and  rose  from  his  seat.  Not  long  after  he  had 
taken  himself  out  of  the  hall,  there  entered  Saul,  boot- 
ed and  spurred,  and  soiled  with  dust,  as  though  he  had 
just  come  off  a  journey. 

"  Ha,  Saul,  art  there  !"  cried  his  master,  his  sullen 
features  brightening  up  abit  at  the  sight  of  his  man  ;  "  I 
expected  thee  not  so  soon.  But  how  fareth  my  noble 
kinsman  ?" 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  133 

"  As  comfortless  as  a  hound  covered  with  bots,"  re- 
plied Saul,  putting  on  a  grin  at  his  conceit.  "  Down 
Towler!  Away  Bass!  Back  Ponto  !  "  cried  he,  as 
sundry  of  the  dogs  came  leaping  up  to  him,  in  sign  of 
his  having  staid  from  them  some  time.  His  honorable 
lordship  walketh  about  like  a  disturbed  spirit  ;  his  face 
has  lost  the  humor  of  smiling,  and  carryeth  the  affecta- 
tion of  melancholy  with  as  much  intentness  as  a  lean  ra- 
ven. He  crosseth  his  arms,  and  paceth  his  chamber, 
and  sigheth  heavily,  and  seemeth  to  have  parted  with  all 
enjoyment  in  this  v/orld  ;  were  he  papist  now,  I  doubt 
not  he  would  turn  monk  presently ." 

"  'Tis  well,''  observed  Master  Buzzard,  taking  to  his 
meal  as  if  with  a  fresh  appetite,  at  hearing  such  intelli- 
gence ;  "I  am  infinitely  glad  matters  go  on  there  so 
bravely.  Here,  assay  some  of  this  pasty.  Perchance, 
thou  art  a  hungered  after  thy  ride."  Saul  waited  not 
for  a  second  bidding,  but  with  the  familiarity  of  a  long- 
tolerated  villain,  drew  to  the  table,  and  helped  himself 
without  stint. 

"  What  dost  think,  Saul  ?"  inquired,  his  master,  put- 
ting down  his  knife,  and  looking  with  a  peculiar  know- 
ingness  at  his  man,  after  they  had  been  silently  discuss- 
ing the  pasty  for  some  few  minutes. 

"  I' faith,  I  know  not,  master,"  replied  the  other,  rais- 
ing his  eyes  from  his  trencher. 

"  I  have  got  that  lewd  rascal  and  poor  knave  in  my 
toil  at  last,"  said  Master    Buzzard. 

"What,  John  Shakspeare  ?"  asked  his  companion, 
as  though  in  a  sort  of  pleased  surprise. 

"  No  other,"  answered  his  master,  evidently  with  a 
like  devilish  satisfaction.  "  He  shall  presently  be  turn- 
ed upon  the  world  as  bare  as  a  callow  owlet.  I  have 
taken  care  he  shall  be  stripped  of  all  his  substance,  even 
to  his  Sunday  jerkin,  and  sent  adrift  as  complete  a  beg- 
gar as  ever  lived." 

"  O'  my  life,  excellent  !"  exclaimed  his  man,  chafing 
of  his  hands  as  if  in  £reat  glee  ;  "  body  o'  me,  I  have  not 

VOL.  I.  12 


134  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

heard  such  pleasant  news  this  many  a  day.  He  will 
never  fine  me  forty  shillings  again  for  breaking  a  man's 
head,  I'll  warrant,  or  coop  me  a  whole  day  in  the  cage,  on 
suspicion  of  being  over  civil  to  a  comely  woman,  as  his 
high  baliffship  hath  done.  Well  an'  1  make  not  good 
sport  of  this,  count  my  liver  as  white  as  a  boiled  chick- 
en. But  here's  a  goodly  stock  of  patience  to  him,  that 
he  may  bear  this  pitiful  change  of  fortune  as  he  best 
may  1"  And  so  saying,  he  lifted  the  tankard  to  his 
mouth,  and  took  a  hearty  draught  of  it. 

"  He  hath  no  John  a  Combe  now  to  help  him  at  his 
need,"  added  Master  Buzzard.  "  Methinks,  too  I  have 
carved  out  such  work  for  that  wight  as  will  keep  him 
like  a  rat  to  his  hole  :  for  I  have  at  last  taken  such  ven- 
geance as  will  hurt  him  more  than  ever  our  rapiers  could, 
had    we  succeeded  as  I  at  first  wished." 

"  Truly,  he  showed  himself  a  very  devil  at  his  weap- 
on," observed  the  other  ;  "  and  handled  me  so  in  the 
lane — a  murrain  on  him  !  I  shall  bear  on  my  body  the 
marks  of  his  handwriting  to  my  life's  end  :  therefore,  am 
1  all  the  more  glad  you  have  given  him  his  deserts." 

"Now  truss  me  with  all  speed,"  said  his  master,  at 
the  finishing  of  his  repast,  "  for  I  am  bound  to  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy's,  and  must  needs  appear  becomingly 
before  his  worship." 

"  Ay,  marry,"  replied  Saul,  trussing  his  master's  points. 
Shortly  after  which  Master  Buzzard  mounted  his  horse, 
which  had  been  got  ready  for  him  at  the  gate,  and  rode 
off  in  the  direction  of  Fulbroke  Park. 

It  was  a  fresh  morning  at  the  latter  end  of  April,  and 
great  rains  had  fallen  for  sometime,  the  young  foliage 
was  marked  with  such  transparent  green  as  was  truly 
delicate  to  see — the  hedges  being  fairly  clothed  all  in  their 
new  liveries,  save  here  and  there  a  backward  hawthorn, 
or  a  stump  of  an  old  oak  the  last  frosts  had  taken  a  stout 
hold  of,  showed  its  unsightly  bare  branches.  On  the 
banks  there  was  no  lack  of  verdure,  sprinkled  in  famous 
plentifulness  with  groups  of  primroses,  cuckoo  flowers, 
snap-jacks,  daisies,  cowslips,  violets^and  other  sweet  har- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  lZo 

bingers  of  the  summer  season.  The  small  birds  were 
making  a  brave  chirruping  in  and  out  of  the  hedges — 
sparrows,  linnets,  finches,  and  tits,  out  of  all  number — 
anon,  the  traveler  would  disturb  a  blackbird"  or  thrush 
feeding,  who  would  fly  off  with  some  noise — close  over 
the  adjoining  field  of  rye,  high-soaring,  was  seen  the  lark, 
pouring  from  her  throat  such  a  gush  of  thrilling  music 
as  nought  else  in  nature  hath  comparison  with  ;  at  open- 
ings in  the  hedge  might  be   observed  glimpses  of  the  ad- 

©  o  a  or 

joining  country,  which  looked  very  prettily — here,  a  pas- 
ture with  numberless  sheep  on  it  all  cleanly  cropped 
from  the  late  shearing,  among  which  the  young  lambs 
were  beheld  making  excellent  sport  with  each  other,  or 
running  with  an  innocent  plaintive  u  ba  "  to  the  mother 
ewe,  whose  deeper  voice  ever  and  anon  came  in  with  a 
pleasant  harmony — there,  a  field  partly  ploughed,  by  a 
team  of  oxen,  followed  by  a  choice  company  of  rooks, 
who  came  to  make  prey  of  the  worms  that  were  turned 
up  in  the  furrows — and  not  a  stone's  throw  from  them 
was  a  man  scattering  of  seed  in  the  newly  raised  soil — 
whilst  close  at  hand  were  sundry  old  people  busily  en- 
gaged at  weeding  a  coming  crop.  Other  fields,  of  vari- 
ous different  tints,  stretched  themselves  out  far  and  wide, 
till  nought  could  be  seen  but  the  hedge  rows ;  and  the 
far  off  hills  and  woods,  the  greenness  whereof  seemed 
to  vanish  in  the  distance  to  a  deep  dark  blue. 

Nothing  of  all  this  brave  sight  was  noticed  by  Master 
Buzzard,  who  rode  on  his  horse  with  a  tercel  on  his  wrist, 
and  a  brach-hound  at  his  horse's  heels,  careless  of  all 
things  in  nature  save  only  his  own  selfish  schemings  and 
villanous  plottings  against  the  happiness  of  others.  He 
was  one  for  whom  the  beauties  around  him  had  no  at- 
tractions at  any  time,  unless,  peradventure,  it  afforded 
him  good  sport  in  hawking  or  in  such  other  pastimes  as 
he  took  delight ;  in  fact,  from  a  riotous,  headstrong 
youth,  he  had  grown  to  b?  a  man  void  of  all  principle, 
seeking  his  own  pleasures,  heedless  of  whatsoever  might 
be  in  their  way  ;  and  never  hesitating  to  stoop  to  any 
villainy  that  promised   employment  to  his  bad    passions, 


136  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

and  advantage  to  himself.  Such  a  one  Nature  might 
look  in  the  face,  smiling  in  all  her  most  exquisite  comeli- 
ness, and  he  would  take  of  her  no  more  heed  than  would 
he  the  squalid  lineaments  of  a  beggar's  callet.  Indeed, 
the  numberless  moving  graces  of  our  inestimable  kind 
mother,  can  only  be  sufficiently  appreciated  by  those 
whose  eyesight  is  free  from  sensual  and  selfish  films,  and 
whose  deep  hearted  love  helpeth  their  vision  mere  admi- 
rably than  can  any  glasses,  however  magnifying  they 
may  be. 

Master  Buzzard  proceeded  on  his  journey  at  a  brisk- 
ish  amble,  seemingly  by  the  contraction  of  his  brows, 
and  un pleasing  gravity  of  his  aspect,  to  be  meditating 
somewhat  ;  but  of  what  he  was  thinking  I  care  not  to 
tell  ;  for  it  is  a  standing  truth,  a  bad  man's  thoughts  will 
do  good  to  none.  Sometimes  he  would  start  from  his 
reflections  to  whistle  to  his  hound,  should  the  dog  seem 
inclined  to  wander  away  upon  the  fresh  trail  of  coneys 
or  hares  ;  and  then  swear  a  lot  of  terrible  oaths  when 
she  returned  to  his  side;  or  he  would  walk  his  horse,  to 
talk  and  trifle  with  his  hawk  ;  and  then,  tired  of  that, 
away  he  would  bound  again,  through  the  deep  lanes,  and 
over  the  fields,  to  Charlcote,  with  his  dog  some  little 
way  behind,  carrying  of  her  nose  close  to  the  ground, 
or  running  on  before  with  a  sharp  quick  bark,  constantly 
stopping  and  twirling  of  her  head  round  to  look  back  at 
her  master  ;  and  away  again,  as  though  it  was  fine  sport 
to  her  to  be  so  early  a  roving.  Thus  they  went  till  they 
came  to  a  white  gate,  at  the  which  Master  Buzzard  was 
forced  to  dismount  to  open  it,  and  then  rode  on  again 
through  a  pasture  marked  by  sweeping  undulations,  dot- 
ted here  and  there  with  magnificent  oaks  and  beeches, 
through  which  the  sunshine  came  in  glances,  in  a  man- 
ner as  if  desirous  of  having  the  best  aspects  of  this  syl- 
van scene. 

Here  the  palfrey  ambled  his  prettiest  paces,  for  the 
close  herbage  was  as  velvet  "to  his  hoofs,  and  he  stretch- 
ed out  his  neck,  '  and  shook  his  mane,  and  pawed  the 
ground  as  he  went,  in  a  marvelous   fine  fashion  :   but  all 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  137 

at  once  he  stopped  of  a  sudden,  for  right  across  his  path, 
a  little  in  advance  of  him,  there  rushed  a  numerous  troop 
of  deer,  and  Master  Buzzard  had  a  great  to  do  in  shout- 
ing and  whistling  to  call  back  his  biach-hound,  who  at 
the  first  glance  of  them  was  for  giving  chase  at  the  top 
of  her  speed.  It  was  a  famous  sight  to  see  them  bound- 
ing across  the  wide  valley,  and  then  up  the  next  accliv- 
ity, where  they  stopped, — perchance  to  note  if  they 
were  pursued — the  young  fawns  using  their  slender  legs 
with  exceeding'swiftness  ;  and  amongst  the  rest  might  be 
seen  a  delicate  white  doe,  made  all  the  more  manifest  by 
the  sleek  backs  of  her  dappled  company.  Farther  on 
more  of  these  were  met  with,  and,  if  at  any  distance, 
the  bucks  would  not  stir ;  but  with  antlers  erect,  they 
would  get  together  and  examine  the  strangers  with  a 
marvelous  bold  front — anon  a  patridge  would  rise  before 
the  horse  with  a  startlino;  whirr  :  and  other  si^ns  of  a 
like  nature  met  them  as  they  went,  which  proved  plain 
enough  that  they  were  in  some  goodly  park  or  another. 
Peradventure,  whilst  Master  Buzzard  is  making  his  way 
to  Charlcote,  the  courteous  reader  will  be  right  glad  to 
be  rid  of  his  villanous  company. 

At  this  time  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  dame  were  tak- 
ing a  morning's  walk  in  their  garden  and  orchards — 
mayhap  to  see  how  looked  the  trees  for  fruit,  and  the 
ground  for  vegetables  and  flowers.  These  two  were 
both  of  some  age,  that  |is  to  say,  neither  were  short  of 
fifty.  The  knight  was  somewhat  older,  of  a  middle  size 
as  regards  length,  yet  his  limbs  were  slim,  and  waist  no 
great  matter.  His  countenance  was  of  the  simple  sort, 
yet  merry  withal,  for  he  afTected  a  jest  at  times,  and  nev- 
er failed  to  laugh  at  it  the  heartiest  of  any  ;  but  his  con- 
stant affectation  was  of  boasting  what  wild  pranks  he 
had  done  in  his  youth  for  all  he  was  now  a  justice  of 
peace  ;  nevertheless  when  any  offence  was  put  upon  him. 
he  would  take  upon  himself  to  be  in  as  monstrous  a  rage 
as  the  greatest  man  in  the  shire.  He  wore  a  high- 
crowned  hat  a  little  on  one  side,  and  moved  his  head 
with  a  jaunty  air,   humming  of  a   song   he   had  learned 

VOL.     I.  12* 


138 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


when  at  college  ;  and  a  short  ruff  surrounded  his  peak- 
ed grey  beard.  He  wore  a  plum-colored  doublet,  with 
such  broad  stuffed  breeches  to  his  hose  as  had  been  lately 
in  fashion,  and  carried  his  rapier  as  daintily  as  any  young 
gallant.  As  for  his  dame,  she  kept  at  his  «ide  with  a 
dignity,  as  she  imagined,  becoming  of  her  station  ;  for  as 
she  fancied  a  justice  of  peace  to  be  nigh  upon  the  most 
worshipful  of  all  offices,  and  her  husband,  Sir  Thomas,  to 
be  the  most  famous  justice  that  ever  lived,  anything  in 
her  behavior  that  might  savor  of  levity  she  would  have 
nought  to  do  with — always  excepting  she  would  laugh  a 
little  at  her  husband's  jests,  as  she  believed  in  all  obedi- 
ence she  was  bound,  though  she  never  failed  to  cry  out 
"  fie — fie"  as  she  did  it,  when  they  smacked  of  any 
naughtiness.  In  short,  she  was  a  simple  honest-hearted 
creature  as  any  that  lived,  ever  ready  to  make  up  with 
kindness  what  she  wanted  in  sense.  She  was  dressed  in  an 
excellent  stiff  brocade,  with  a  long  stomacher  and  a  nota- 
ble ruff,  plaited  and  set  out  in  the  best  fashion,  and  wore 
high-heeled  shoes,  which  gave  her  walk  a  gravity  she 
could  not  have  otherwise  attained  ;  and  had  her  own 
hair  partly  concealed  under  a  French  hood. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  it  was  this  very  lady  of 
whom  Master  Buzzard  spoke  so  uncivilly  at  William 
Shakspeare  his  christening,  touching  a  young  child  she 
had  found  in  her  walks  abandoned  of  its  parents,  and 
had  resolved  to  bring  up  tenderly  ;  but  in  truth,  all  he 
said  was  a  most  lewd  libel,  as  I  doubt  not  will  readily  be 
believed  of  him,  for  she  was  too  simple  a  woman  to  do 
anything  unlawful,  and  the  child  was  a  true  foundling,  to 
whom  she  had  shown  from  the  first  a  very  womanly 
charity  and  affection.  Her  greatest  faults  were  her  un- 
reasonable partialities,  which  blinded  her  completely. 
She  could  see  no  wrong  in  ought  that  was  done  by  her 
husband,  Sir  Thomas,  who  was  not  altogether  blameless, 
— or  her  only  son,  a  boy  of  at  least  fifteen  years,  and  a 
very  tyrant  to  the  gentle  Mabel,  now  grown  to  be  a 
child  of  exquisite  graces  of  disposition,,  and  his  junior  by 
some  five  or  six  years. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  139 

It  hath  already  been  said  that  the  knight  and  his 
dame  were  taking  of  a  morning's  walk  together ;  but 
some  way  behind  these  was  seen  a  fair  girl,  whose  clus- 
tering light  ringlets  were  caught  up  by  every  breeze  that 
blew,  setting  ofT  as  admirable  a  mild  sweet  countenance 
as  the  most  innocent  age  of  childhood  ever  exhibited. 
Behind  her  was  a  lubberly  boy,  dressed  very  daintily  in 
doublet  and  hose  like  a  young  gentleman  ;  and  he  was 
amusing  himself  by  picking  up  small  stones  and  fling- 
ing them  at  her,  many  of  which  hit  her  sore  thumps  ; 
yet  the  only  sign  she  showed  of  her  dislike  of  such  un- 
civil treatment,  was  to  be^  he  would  not  hurt  her  so 
much.  These  two  were  the  poor  foundling  and  the  son 
of  her  benefactress  ;  and  this  was  a  sample  of  the  sort 
of  treatment  she  had  of  him  whenever  he  could  get  her 
away  from  the  observation  of  those  likely  to  check  his 
rudeness  ;  for  he  knew  of  old  she  would  never  complain 
of  him,  let  his  usage  of  her  be  ever  so  bad,  and  there- 
fore he  mi^ht  continue  it,  as  he  thought,  with  perfect 
impunity. 

"Pray  you,  sweet  Master  Thomas,  hit  me  not  so 
hard  1"  exclaimed  the  pretty  Mabel,  in  such  winning 
accents  as  one  might  have  thought  would  have  subdued 
a  savage,  as  she  strove  unavailing!)7  to  save  herself  from 
the  hard  missiles  with  which  she  was  pelted,  by  putting 
up  her  little  hands,  and  shrinking  fearfully  every  time  a 
stone  was  thrown. 

"Tut,  how  can  1  hurt  thee,  thou  little  fool  ?"  replied 
young  Lucy,  desisting  not  a  moment  from  his  unmanner- 
ly behavior. 

"  Indeed,  you  do  exceedingly,  else  would  I  say 
nought  of  the  matter,"  added  she. 

"  Then  thou  shouldst  have  the  wit  to  avoid  my  aim," 
said  the  boy  with  a  rude  laugh.  "But  thou  makest 
brave  sport,  Mabel.  O'  my  life,  I  should  like  to  have 
thee  fixed  to  a  stake  as  cocks  are  at  a  shrovetide,  1  war- 
rant I'd  give  thee  famous  knocks." 

"  I  would  do  you  no  such  unkindness,  believe  me," 
answered  his  fair  companion.  "  IVor  would  I  wish  to 
hurt  any  that  live." 


140  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"The  more  fool,  thou,"  exclaimed  her  tormenter. 

"  I  marvel  you  should  use  me  so  uncivilly,"  continued 
the  poor  girl,  smarting  with  the  pain  from  a  fresh  blow, 
"  I  am  sure  I  have  done  nought  that  should  give  you 
any  displeasure,  and  do  all  you  require  me  at  a  moment's 
bidding,  even  though  it  may  have  in  it  a  great  distaste- 
fulness." 

"  Marry,  what  infinite  goodness !"  cried  the  boy  in  a 
jeering  manner.  "Why,  of  what  use  art,  if  not  to  af- 
ford me  some  sport  for  the  lack  of  better  ?  Dost  know 
the  difference  betwixt  a  good-for-nothing  beggarly  brat, 
and  a  young  gentleman  of  worship  ?  and  what  so  fit,  I 
prithee,  as  that  the  one  should  be  the  pastime  of  the 
other." 

"  I  would  rather  it  should  be  in  some  other  fashion, 
an'  it  please  you  ;"  observed  Mabel  very  humbly.  "  I 
will  roll  the  ball  that  you  should  strike  it,  and  then  to  my 
utmost  speed  to  bring  it  back  to  you  again — I  will  be 
your  horse,  your  spaniel,  your  deer ;  nay,  ought  in  this 
world  you  most  approve  of,  and  do  all  that  in  me  lies  to 
pleasure  you,  so  that  you  give  me  no  more  cruel  blows 
with  those  uncivil  stones." 

"  Tis  my  humor,  I  tell  thee  ;"  sharply  replied  the: 
petty  tyrant.  "  And  why  should  I  be  balked  in  my  hu- 
mor by  so  mean  a  person  ?  Thou  art  ever  a  crying  out 
about  thy  hurts,  forsooth  ;  and  I  doubt  not  at  all  thou  art 
no  more  hurt  than  am  I." 

"  Nay,  and  indeed,  swreet  Master  Thomas •' 

"  Hold  thy  prate  !"  exclaimed  he,  picking  up  another 
missile,  somewhat  larger  in  size  than  what  he  had  pre- 
viously thrown,  which  he  caught  hold  of  because  he 
would  not  wait  to  seek  any  smaller.  "  See,  I  have  got 
me  a  stone  of  some  bigness,  and  if  thou  art  not  nimble, 
'tis  like  thy  crown  will  stand  some  chance  of  being 
cracked."  The  poor  child  cowed  down  as  she  saw  him 
fling  ;  but  the  blow  struck  hard,  for  a  slight  scream  es- 
caped her  involuntarily  as  she  hastily  put  up  her  hands 
to  her  head. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  141 

"  Hang  thee,  why  didst  not  take  heed  as  I  told  thee !" 
cried  the  unfeeling  boy,  searching  about  as  if  for  anoth- 
er stone  ;  but  it  so  happened  that  the  cry  of  Mabel  was 
heard  by  his  parents,  who  turned  back  to  see  what  caused 
it.  The  poor  foundling  was  standing  in  exactly  the  same 
position  as  when  she  was  struck. 

"  Ha  !  what  aileth  thee,  Mabel?"  shouted  Sir  Thom- 
as, as  he  approached  her.  "Hast  been  stung  by  a  bee? 
Well,  'tis  but  a  small  matter.  But  never  knew  I  a  wo- 
man yet  that  couid  not  cry  out  lustily  at  trifles  ;  never- 
theless, received  she  any  great  damage  that  need  not  be 
told,  she  had  the  wit  to  hold  her  tongue,  1  warrant  you." 

"  Fie,  fie  !"  exclaimed  the  dame  as  usual,  joining  in 
the  knight's  laugh  ;  and  then  resuming  her  customary 
dignity  swept  forward  to  see  if  there  was  anything  amiss. 

"Thou  shouldst  not  cry  out,  child,  upon  slight  caus- 
es ;"  added  she,  as  she  came  close  to  the  poor  foundling. 
"  Bees  have  stings;  and  as  is  exceeding  natural,  they 
will  use  them  when  provoked  to  it,  and  perchance  thou 
shall  be   forced   to  bear  the  smart  ;  but  come   thou  with 

me,  I  have  in   my  closet  the  sovereignest  remedy 

Alack,  what  a  sight  is  this!"  cried  the  old  lady  in  some 
amazement  and  alarm,  as,  in  taking  the  child's  arm,  she 
noticed  blood  trickling  through  her  fingers,  and  over  her 
waving  ringlets  down  to  her  back. 

'O'  my  life,  dame,  methinks  she  hath  sufficient  cause 
for  her  crying,"  observed  the  knight.  "But  how  came 
this  about  ?  Dost  know  ought  of  the  matter,  son  Tom?" 
inquired  he,  as  the  boy  came  up  to  the  spot. 

"  'Troth,  father,  I  was  flinging  at  a  bird,  and  mayhap 
struck  her  by  chance,"  said  his  son,  as  he  noticed  the 
mischief  he  had  done. 

"  Plague  on't,  why  dost  not  take  more  heed  ?"  ex- 
claimed his  father. 

"  I  am  not  much  hurt,  I  thank  you  ;"  said  Mabel,  but 
so  faintly  as  proved  she  was  nigh  upon  swooning  ;  and 
indeed,  the  blow  had  been  so  sharp  it  had  stunned  her 
for  a  time.  "  And  Master  Thomas  meant  not  it  should 
.strike  me." 


142  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  have  got  in  his  way,  child  !"  ob- 
served Dame  Lucy  very  gravely.  "  But  come  with  me 
— this  wound  must  be  looked  to  straight."  And  so  say- 
ing, she  led  the  fair  child  along  to  the  house,  making 
sage  remarks  all  the  way  of  the  properness  of  little  girls 
keeping  away  from  places  where  any  stones  were  being 
thrown. 

"  I  marvel  thou  shouldst  be  so  awkward,  son  Tom," 
said  the  knight,  as  he  followed  slowly  behind  the  other 
two.  "  Now  when  I  was  of  thy  age  none  could  match 
me  at  flinging  at  a  mark.  Many's  the  cock-sparrow  I 
have  knocked  off  his  perch  ;  nay,  I  have  been  so  quick 
of  eye  as  more  than  once,  taking  aim  at  a  running  lever- 
et with  a  stone  of  less  than  an  ounce  weight,  I  have  hit 
him  between  the  ears,  and  tumbled  him  over  as  though 
he  had  been  shot." 

Thus  this  unmannerly  boy  escaped  the  punishment  he 
deserved  for  his  heartless  mischief,  and  thus  the  four  re- 
turned to  the  house,  the  dame  intent  upon  dressing  the 
child's  wound,  for  she  was  famous  in  the  knowledge  of 
simples,  and  in  small  surgery,  as  all  good  huswives 
should  be  ;  and  the  knight  rehearsing  to  his  son  what 
marvelous  feats  he  had  done  in  his  boyhood  with  the 
flinging  of  stones.  Close  upon  the  entrance  they  were 
met  by  a  serving  man  announcing  the  arrival  of  Master 
Buzzard,  come  to  see  his  worship  on  business. 

"  How  fare  you  Master  Buzzard,  how  fare  you  ?" 
cried  Sir  Thomas,  welcoming  his  visitor  in  the  old  hall, 
where  he  transacted  justice  business.  "  I  must  have 
your  company  to  dinner,  Master  Buzzard,  when  my  dame 
shall  do  you  all  proper  courtesies."  Then  unheeding 
ought  he  had  to  say  on  the  matter,  the  old  knight  gave 
instant  orders  that  the  horse  of  his  guest  should  be  well 
tended,  and  preparations  made  for  as  famous  a  dinner  as 
the  cook  could  provide.  "  Ha  !  hast  got  a  falcon  ?" 
continued  he.  "  I  doubt  not  'tis  a  brave  bird  by  the 
look  of  it,  Master  Buzzard.  Indeed,  in  my  time,  I 
have  been  as  cunning  in  falconry  as  the  best  man  living. 
I  remember  me  I  had  a  hawk  of  my  own  training  that  was 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  143 

the  admiration  of  all  the  country, and  lords  and  bishops  and 
great  courtiers  came  to  beg  that  bird  of  me,  but  1  would 
part  with  her  on  no  account ;  she  went  at  her  quarry  as 
no  bird  ever  did — and  all  of  my  own  training.  And  how 
fareth  your  noble  kinsman  ?" 

"  Bravely,  I  thank  you,  Sir  Thomas,"  replied  Master 
Buzzard  courteously  ;  and  then  holding  out  the  bird, 
added,  "  this  hawk  is  accounted  one  of  ten  thousand,  as 
I  doubt  not  you  shall  find  her  on  trial,  so  I  pray  you  ac- 
cept of  her,  Sir  Thomas,  for  I  have  had  her  trained  so 
that  she  should  be  worthy  of  belonging  to  so  excellent 
fine  a  judge." 

"  Count  me  your  debtor,  Master  Buzzard,''  said  the 
knight,  taking  the  gift  very  readily.  "  I  shall  be  proud 
to  do  you  any  good  service,  believe  me.  By  the  mass, 
'tis  a  brave  bird!  And  so  your  noble  kinsmao  is  well," 
continued  he,  as  they  sat  together  under  a  raised  dais 
at  the  top  of  the  hall.  "  I  wonder  if  he  hath  forgot  his 
old  acquaintance  Thomas  Lucy-valiant  Thomas  Lucy,as 
he  was  wont  to  call  me, because  once  I  got  my  head  broke 
by  a  tinker  for  kissing  of  his  wife.  I  remember  me  now, 
his  good  lordship  laughed  when  the  fellow  offered  to  sod- 
der  it  for  me  for  a  groat,  and  put  his  irons  in  the  fire  for 
the  purpose.     That  was  a  good  jest  i'faith." 

"My  lord  often  speaketh  kindly  of  you,  Sir  Thomas," 
replied  his  guest,  though  he  had  never  heard  his  kins- 
man mention  the  knight's  name. 

"  O'  my  heart,  doth  he  now  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Thom- 
as delightedly.  "  Well,  we  have  been  sad  boys  together 
that's  a  sure  thing — such  coney-catch — erssuch  royster- 
ers  such  lads  of  metal  were  not  to  be  found  in  all  Oxford. 
We  kept  the  college  in  a  roar,  that  did  we  with  our 
tricks  ;  and  if  any  of  the  citizens  so  much  as  said  us 
nay,  we  would  out  with  our  toasting  irons  and  show  them 
how  famously  we  could  pass  the  montant,  the  punto,  the 
reverso,  and  other  signs  of  our  cunning  in  fence,  till  they 
were  glad  enough  to  take  to  their  heels  with  whole  skins. 
We  had  not  our  match  at  the  duello  I  promise  you,  and 
my  lord  was  as  choice  a  man  at  his  weapon  as  might  be 


144  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

met  with  in  those  days ;  as  for  me  he  would  say  I  de- 
served to  be  fencer  to  the  Czar  of  Muscovy,  I  was  so 
quick  at  it,  and  that  my  nimbleness  of  motion  made  me 
as  difficult  to  be  hit  as  a  flea  with  a  cannon  ball  ;  odds 
my  life,  that  was  wittily  said  !" 

"In  truth  a  notable  jest ;''  said  his  guest  joining  in  the 
justice's  laugh. 

"  And  so  he  wears  well,  doth  he,  Master  Buzzard  ?" 
inquired  the  knight.  "  I'm  glad  on't — heartily  glad  on't, 
for  he  was  a  true  jovial  spirit  as  ever  I  have  met  with, 
and  I  have  known  some  mad  fellows  in  my  time,  I  war- 
rant you.  'Troth,  you  would  marvel  famously  to  hear 
of  what  terrible  wild  doings  I  have  been  a  party  to  in 
my  younger  days — a  March  hare  was  not  so  mad  as  was 
I — some  called  me  Hector  of  Greece  because  of  my 
valor — others  the  King  of  the  Swing-bucklers,  I  was  so 
ready  to  be  a  leader  to  the  rest  in  any  mischief.  I  was 
the  terror  of  all  the  drawers  round  about,  I  would  beat 
them  so  readily  ;  and  the  constables  of  the  watch  have 
oft  been  heard  to  say  they  would  as  lief  meddle  with  a 
savage  bear  as  lay  a  hand  on  me  when  I  was  in  any  of 
my  wild  humors.  That  is  a  fair  hound  of  yours,"  con- 
tinued he,  ?11  at  once  noticing  the  dog  his  guest  had 
brought  with  him.  "  There  are  few  so  apt  as  am  I  in  a 
proper  knowledge  of  dogs.  1  can  tell  a  good  one  on 
the  instant.  Indeed  I  have  been  accounted  as  exquis- 
ite a  judge  in  the  breeding  and  breaking  of  them  as  could 
be  found  in  the  county  ;  and  I  have  had  in  my  time  such 
dogs  as  could  not  be  seen  elsewhere.  A  fallow  grey- 
hound had  I  of  a  most  choice  breed  that  beat  all  she  run 
against.  O'  my  life,  I  have  won  such  wages  on  that 
dog's  head  as  are  clean  incredible.  But  your's  is  a  fair 
hound,  Master  Buzzard,  take  my  word  for't." 

"  'Tis  at  your  service,  Sir  Thomas — I  brought  her 
here  for  no  other  intent,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  rob  you  of  so  fair  a  hound,  Master 
Buzzard,"  said  the  justice,  patting  and  commending  the 
dog  as  she  couched  at  her  master's  feet. 

"  You  will  do  me  wrong  in  denying  me  such  a  favor, 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  145 

Sir  Thomas — so   I   pray  you,   take    her,"    answered    his 
guest. 

"  Nay,  I  should  be  loth  to  do  any  man  wrong  !"  ex- 
claimed the  knight  with  great  earnestness.  "  Methinks 
a  justice  of  peace  should  be  no  wrong  doer — so  I  will 
e'en  accept  of  your  hound,  and  thank  you  very  heartily. 
Is  there  ought  in  which  my  poor  ability  may  do  you  a 
service,  Master  Buzzard  ?" 

''There  is  a  matter  I  have  come  upon,  to  the  which  1 
should  like  to  have  your  worship's  countenance,"  began 
his  companion  with  a  famous  hypocritical  serious  face. 

•'Count  upon  it,  Master  Buzzard  !"  cried  the  justice. 

"  Believe  me,  I  would  strain  a  point  for  you  with  great 
willingness,  that  would  I,  as  I  will  show  at  any  time 
there  is  good  warrant  for  it." 

"  I  am  much  bound  to  you,  Sir  Thomas,"  replied  the 
other ;  "  then  this  is  it.  There  is  one  John  Shaks- 
peare " 

"  What,  he  of  Stratford  ?"  inquired  the  knight  quick- 
ly. "  A  man  of  a  fair  round  face,  who  married  Arden's 
daughter.  I  have  heard  him  well  spoke  of  by  divers  of 
the  burgesses  as  passing  honest,  and  at  your  instigation. 
Master  Buzzard,  I  will  countenance  him  against  any 
man." 

"  You  have  been  hugely  deceived  in  him,  Sir  Thom- 
as," observed  his  guest  very  gravely. 

"  Marry,  would  he  seek  to  deceive  a  justice  of 
peace  !"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  What  monstrous  vil- 
lainy !" 

"  I  have  heard  him  speak  most  abominable  slanders  of 
your  worship,"  continued  Master  Buzzard. 

"Oh  ,  the  horrid  caitiff'."  cried  the  offended  justice. 
"  Nay,  but  'tis  actionable,  Master  Buzzard  ;  and  I  will 
have  him  cast  in  swinging  damages.  O'  my  life,  nevei 
heard  I  so  infamous  a  thing!  I  will  straightway  issue 
my  warrant  for  his  apprehension.  I  will  teach  him  to 
slander  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  knight  o'  the  shire  and  justice 
o'  the  peace,  I  warrant  you  !  'Tis  not  fit  such  villains 
should  live  ;  and   methinks  'twould  be  exceeding  proper 

VOL.    I.  13 


146  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

in  the  law  could  so  heinous  an  offence  be  brought  in 
hanging." 

"  As  I  live,  I  am  of  your  worship's  opinion  !"  said 
his  guest.  "  But  he  is  a  very  pestilent  knave,  this  John 
Shakspeare,  and  one  of  no  manner  of  honesty  whatever, 
as  J  can  presently  prove  ;  for  sometime  since,  at  his  ur- 
gent pressing,  believing  him  to  be  such  creditable  person 
as  your  worship  thought,  I  lent  him  a  hundred  crowns  on 
his  bond  the  which  he  hath  not  paid  to  this  day,  putting 
me  off  with  all  sorts  of  paltry  excuses  concerning  of 
what  losses  he  had  had  ;  but  knowing,  by  certain  intelli- 
gence, he  was  merely  striving  to  get  off  payment,  I  have 
instructed  Master  Catchpole  to  proceed  against  him,  and 
seize  what  he  hath  for  the  payment  of  my  just  debt." 

"  [  warrant  you,"  observed  the  knight,  "  never  heard 
I  of  such  thorough  dishonesty.  What,  borrow  a  hun- 
dred crowns  at  his  need,  and  at  a  proper  time  be  not 
able  to  pay  it  back  !     O'  my  life,  'tis  clean  villainy  !" 

"  Perchance  I  should  not  have  been  so  rigorous  with 
him,  had  I  not  heard  him  give  your  worship  such  ill 
words,"  added  Master  Buzzard  ;  "  for  I  care  not  so 
much  for  losing  of  such  a  sum  ;  but  I  could  not  allow  of 
one  who  slandered  so  noble  a  gentleman  going  unpun- 
ished." 

"  By'r  lady,  Master  Buzzard,  I  am  greatly  beholden 
to  you  !"  exclaimed  the  justice ;  "  but  I  will  trounce 
him  famously — ay,  that  will  I ! — and  keep  his  unruly 
tongue  from  all  such  lewd   behavior  forever  after." 

"  Nay,  if  it  please  you  Sir  Thomas,  I  would  he  should 
not  be  attacked  in  this  matter,"  said  Master  Buzzard. 
"The  burgesses  might  take  it  ill  of  me,  he  being  one 
of  the  corporation,  and  of  some  influence  amongst  them, 
were  I  to  seem  to  press  him  too  hard.  So  I  should  take 
it  kindly  if  you  would  make  no  stir  in  it ;  but  keep  you 
your  eye  upon  him,  and  if  he  should  be  found  trans- 
gressing, as  it  is  very  like  he  will,  then,  if  it  so  please 
you,  I  shall  be  well  content  you  punish  him  as  your  wis- 
dom may  think  fittest." 

It    is  only  necessary  to  add   to  what  hath  just  been 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  147 

set  down,  that  Master  Buzzard  stayed  dinner  with  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  and  was  well  entertained  of  him  and  his 
lady,  ever  laughing  at  the  knight's  jests,  and  marveling 
at  his  incredible  narrations,  but  never  failing  to  say  some- 
thing now  and  then  which  should  strengthen  the  other's 
misliking  of  John  Shakspeare,  which  failed  not  of  its 
purpose  ;  for  the  justice  was  so  weak  of  conceit  as  to  he 
easily  enraged  against  any  who  seemed  not  to  think  of 
him  so  famously  as  was  evident  he  thought  of  himself. 


148  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

It  is  decreed  :  and  we  must  yield  to  fate, 
Whose  angry  justice,  though  it  threatens  ruin, 
Contempt  and  poverty,  is  all  but  trial 
Of  a  weak  woman's  constancy  in  suffering. 

Ford. 
In  felawship  well  could  she  laugh  and  carpe ; 
She  was  a  worthy  woman  all  hire  live, 
Housbondes  at  the  chirche  dore  had  she  had  five. 

Chaucer. 
I  exact  not  from  you 
A  fortitude    insensible  of  calamity, 

To  which  the  saints  themselves  have  bowed,  and  shown 
They  are  made  of  flesh  and  blood  ;  all  that  1  challenge 
Is  manly  patience. 

Massinger. 
Hold  out  now, 
And  then  thou  art  victorious. 

Fork. 

Two  persons  were  standing  in  an  empty  chamber,  bare 
to  the  very  boards.  A  painful  seriousness  was  on  the 
features  of  each  ;  but  there  was  no  doubting  each  strove 
to  conceal  from  the  other  the  exact  state  of  their  feelings. 
They  spoke  low  ;  their  voices  having  that  subdued  sound 
which  betokeneth  great  excitement  of  mind,  with  great 
efforts  to  keep  it  from  others'  knowledge.  One,  a  man 
seeming  to  be  of  the  middle  age,  and  in  the  prime  of 
manhood  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  window  cell,  with  his 
forehead  resting  on  his  palm  ;  the  other,  a  woman  of  an 
admirable  matronly  appearance,  had  her  arm  around  his 
waist,  and  her  fair  cheek  resting  upon  his  shoulder. 
These  were  John  Shakspeare  and  his  wife.  They  spoke 
only  at  intervals,  in  the  manner  described  ;  and,  as  usual 
in  all  troubles,  the  woman  appeared  to  be  playing  the 
part  of  the  comforter. 

"  Take  it  not  to  heart,  John,  I  pray  you,"  said  she, 
as  she  seemed  to  press  him  closer  to  her  side.  "  We 
shall  do  bravely  anon.     We  must  put  up  with  these  buf- 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SIIAKSPEARE.  149 

fets  as  we  best  may  ;  and,  for  mine  own  part,  1  can  con- 
tent myself  wondrous  well,  be  my  condition  ever  so  hum- 
ble." 

"  I  doubt  it  not  dame,"  replied  her  husband;  "but 
canst  content  thyself  with  bare  lying,  naked  walls,  ami 
an  empty  larder V 

"  Ay,  dear  heart  ?"  answered  she  very  readily  ;  "  for 
a  longer  space  than  they  are  like  to  visit  us.  We  may 
be  considered  us  poor  as  any  that  live  ;  but  whilst  I  have 
for  my  yoke-fellow  a  good  husband,  a  tender  father,  and 
one  so  industriously  disposed  withal,  as  you  have  oft 
shown  yourself  to  be,  I  know  of  no  poverty  that  could 
trouble  me  a  jot." 

"  But  the  children  dame,"  observed  John  Shakspear 
in   a   huskish  sort  of  voice.      "Alack!    Alack!    what 
shall  become  of  them  ?" 

"  O  they  will  do  well  enough,  I  warrant  you  !"  re- 
plied his  wife  with  a  cheerfulness  she  was  far  from  feel- 
ing. "  They  can  endure  some  slight  discomfort,  or  they 
are  none  of  mine,  more  especially  when  they  take  heed 
of  their  loving  father's  brave  exertions  to  keep  up  his 
heart,  and  make    head  against  this  sudden  adversity." 

"  I  am  bewildered  what  to  set  my  hand  to,"  said  lu  . 
rising  from  his  position  with  a  countenance  somewhat 
irresolute  ;  but  when  I  look  upon  my  stripped  dwelling, 
and  remember  how  delicately  thou  hast  been  brought 


"Tut,  tut,  dear  heart!"  exclaimed   his   good   dame, 
taking  one  of  his  hands  in  hers,  and  gazing  affectionate- 
ly  in  his  face  ;  "  I  should   scorn  myself  could  1  not  bear 
the  ills  that   might  visit  my    helpmate.      Think   not   of 
me,  I  pray  you,  for  there  liveth  not  in    the  world  001 
hardy  as  am    I   in  all   such  matters."     John  Shakspear 
shook  his  head  mournfully  as  he  looked  on  her  pale  i 
as  though  he    had  his  doubts  she  was   as  strong  as 
said. 

"  I  will  essay  all  that  a  man  can,"  said  he  at  last,  "  in 
the  express  hope   this  change  of  fortuue  will  do  the 
hurt,  for  thou  hast  been  an   excellent   good   wife  to  mi 

VOL    I.  13* 


150  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

dame  ;  and  ?t would  go  to  my  heart  were  any  evil  to  hap- 
pen to  thee."  At  this  commendation  she  said  never  a 
word  ;  but  all  the  woman  was  in  her  eyes  presently,  and 
she  suddenly  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  laid 
her  face  on  his  bosom. 

"Woe's  me,  what  poor  foolishness  is  this  ?"  cried  she, 
rising  from  him  a  minute  after,  with  an  endeavor  to  look 
more  cheerful  ;  "  but  1  am  wonderful  pleased  you  will 
try  to  be  doing  something,  and  I  care  not  what  it  be  so 
that  it  keep  sad  thoughts  from  your  head  :  nay,  I  am  as- 
sured of  it,  you  shall  live  prosperously  the  rest  of  your 
days,  put  you  forth  all  your  strength  now  to  bear  these 
troubles." 

"  That  will  I  without  fail,  sweet  heart,"  cried  he. 
After  a  brief  space  he  left  the  chamber. 

Dame  Shakspeare  when  alone,  felt  the  whole  weight 
of  her  misfortune,  for  she  had  given  such  great  heaps  of 
comfort  to  her  husband,  she  bad  not  a  bit  of  ever  such 
smallness  remaining  for  herself.  She  leaned  out  of  the 
empty  casement,  but  of  the  spring  flowers  blooming  in 
the  garden  saw  she  nothing  ;  she  beheld  only  her  hap- 
less partner  and  her  poor  innocent  children  lacking  those 
comforts  tbay  had  been  used  to,  and  she  powerless  as  to 
helping  them  in  their  need.  The  wife  and  the  mother 
was  so  moved  at  the  picture  she  could  not  avoid  draw- 
ing, as  to  feel  a  sort  of  choking,  and  such  heaviness  of 
heart,  that  at  last  she  dropped  her  face  upon  her  hands 
and  there  smothered  her  sobs.  All  at  once  she  caught 
the  sound  of  a  very  sweet  singing,  and  listening  with 
what  attention  she  could,  heard  the  following  words. 


A  COMFORTABLE  CAROL. 

"Cheer  thee,  my  heart !  Thy  life  shall  have  a  crowning 

This  poor  appareling  cannot  beguile  ; 
Phoobus  himsolf  hath  worn  as  dark  a  frowning, 
And  lo  !  all  Heaven  is  radiant  with  his  smile  ! 
Bravely  thy  spirit  bear, 
Far  from  each  coward  fear ; 
What  though  some  trouble  come,  is  all  joy  banished  ? 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  151 

Prithee  a  lesson  read, 

In  ev'ry  shivering-  weed. 
That  knows  in  winter's  rage  springs  have  not  vanished. 
Pleasure  is  born  of  thee,  comfort  is  near  thee, 
Glory  thy  boon  shall  be — Cheer  thee.  O  Cheer  thee  ! 

Cheer  thee,  my  heart  !     Heed  not  the  present  sorrov. 

Let  future  gladness  flash  in  every  thought ; 
Never  anight  so  black  but  hath  its  morrow, 

Whose  splendor  laughs  all  gloominess  to  nought. 
Though  thou  shouldst  feel  the  wound. 
'Tis  but  to  plough  the  ground — 
Looks  not  the  soil  as  barren  in  the  furrow  : 
Yet  o'er  these  sightless  clods, 
Countless  great  plenty  nods, 
When  the  rich  harvest  clothes  the  wide  field  through  ! 
Pleasure  is  born  of  tb.ee,  comfort  is  near  thee, 
Glory  thy  boon  shall  be — Cheer  thee,  O  cheer  thee  !" 

It  was  Nurse  Cicely  singing  to  the  children  in  an  up- 
per chamber,  as  was  her  wont.  It  had  been  noted,  that 
however  much  given  to  singing  was  she,  she  never  sang 
any  such  songs  as  were  familiar  to  htr  hearers  :  but  she 
would  say  whin  spoke  to  on  the  matter  she  had  learned 
them  in  her  youth,  and  knew  not  by  whom  they  were 
writ.  It  was  the  marvel  of  many,  that  they  looked  to 
be  of  a  higher  language  than  ordinary  ballads,  whereof 
the  tunes  were  the  delicatest  sort  ever  heard.  Dame 
Shakspeare  felt  exceeding  comforted  at  hearing  the  fore- 
going verses,  and  rising  from  her  leaning  place,  hastily 
brushed  away  a  tear  from  her  eyelids,  as  though  it  was 
some  base  rebel  that  would  needs  be  in  arms  against  her 
authority.  As  she  did  this  she  was  suddenly  aware  of 
a  great  talking  of  voices  in  what  had  been  the  ware- 
house, and  her  chamber  door  being  presently  thrown 
open,  she  beheld  the  whole  place  thronged  with  her 
neighbors,  mostly  women  ana  children,  carrying  spare 
tables  and  chairs,  and  other  such  conveniences  as  they 
thought  she  stood  most  in  need  of. 

"  This  way,  neighbors,  this  way  !"  exclaimed  the  mer- 
ry Widow  Pippins,  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  of  the 
party. 

"  Ha  !  dame,    how   dost  do  ?"    inquired  she,  as  she 


152  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

put  an  old  arm  chair  by  the  side  of  her.  "  So  the  vil- 
lains have  not  left  thee  so  much  as  a  rush  for  thy  floor  ? 
But  mind  it  not,  gossip,  for  they  have  given  thee  all  the 
better  cause  for  caring  not  a  rush  for  the  whole  pack  of 
them."  Thereupon  she  had  a  hearty  laugh,  and  then 
bustled  herself  about,  giving  directions  where  to  put 
things,  which  all  did  with  great  alacrity,  that  presently 
there  seemed  some  sort  of  comfort  in  the  chamber,  albeit 
though  no  two  chairs  were  alike.  Mistress  Malmsey  and 
Mistress  Dowlas  were  each  at  the  side  of  Dame  Shaks- 
peare,  for  she  was  more  overpowered  by  the  kindness  of 
her  neighbors  than  ever  she  had  been  at  the  great  re- 
verse she  had  just  experienced  ;  and  they  two  having 
got  her  seated,  were  pressing  of  her  to  take  some  wine 
the  vintner's  wife  had  brought  with  her,  and  were  be- 
stowing on  her  all  sorts  of  friendly  consolation. 

"  Now  get  you  gone,  all  of  you,  and  let  us  see  which 
hath  the  best  pair  of  heels,"  said  the  widow,  in  her 
cheerfulest  humor,  to  the  others.  "Mayhap,  if  you 
search  thoroughly,  you  shall  still  find  some  odd  thing  or 
another  serviceable  to  our  good  neighbor;  and  methinks 
'twould  be  infamous  of  any  who  have  wherewithal  to 
spare,  to  keep  it  from  one  who  is  in  such  need." 

"Ay,  that  would  it,"  said  David  Hurdle,  who  had 
run  from  his  work  on  the  news  of  John  Shakspeare's 
misfortune,  with  a  heavy  oak  table  nigh  as  much  as  he 
could  carry. 

"  Methinks  I  have  a  knife  or  two,  and  mayhap  a 
spare  trencher,"  observed  Mother  Flytrap.  "But, 
alack  !  what  a  monstrous  shame  was  it  to  have  been  so 
hard  upon  so  sweet  a  woman.  Odds  codlings  1  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  do  them  a  mischief  for't. 

"Use  thy  legs  briskly,  and  thy  tongue  shall  last  the 
longer,"  exclaimed  the  Widow  Pippins,  merrily. 

"  That  will  I,  I  warrant  you  !"  replied  the  old  wo- 
man, hobbling  along  with  her  stick  at  a  rate  she  had 
not  attempted  for  many  a  day. 

"As  I  live  the  world  groweth  more  villanous  every 
hour!"  cried  Oliver  Dumps,  putting  on  one  of  his  dole- 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  153 

fullest  faces.  "  What  abominable  uncivilness  and  horri- 
ble tyranny  is  this — what  shameful  usage  and  intolerable 
cruelty  !" 

"  Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips,  Master  Constable/' 
-aid  the  widow.  "  Hast  brought  any  useful  thing  for 
our  £Ood  neighbor  ?" 

•■  Nay,  I  clean  forgot,"  answered  Oliver. 

M  Speed  thee,  then,  and  give  handsomely,"  exclaimed 
she.  "  What  dost  come  here  for,  with  thy  melancholy 
visage  like  that  of  a  frog  in  a  long  drought  ?  Get  thee 
gone  for  a  good  dozen  of  trenchers,  else  if  ever  I  draw 
thee  a  drop  of  my  liquor  again  call  me  a  horse.  And, 
prithee,"  added  the  merry  woman,  as  he  was  moving 
himself  off,  "  strive  if  thou  canst  not  find  not  a  good 
store  of  wholesome  victual  to  put  in  them  ;  and  count 
on  for  brimming  measure  from  me  the  rest  of  thy 
life." 

"  How  now  sweetheart,"  cried  she,  when  there  were 
no  others  left  with  Dame  Shakspeare  save  only  herself, 
Mistress  Malmsey,  and  Mistress  Dowlas,  "  be  not  so 
downcast.  By  rny  patience,  there  is  nought  in  this  you 
should  so  much  care  for.  Look  at  me,  who  have  buried 
five  husbands — seem  I  in  any  way  woe-begone  ?  O' 
my  life,  no  !  Perchance  I  should  seem  none  the  less 
satisfied  had  I  buried  a  hundred,  for  there  would  still  be 
plenty  as  good  above  ground,  or  I  am  hugely  mistaken. 
Troth,  care  and  I  have  never  been  bedfellows,  that's  a 
sure  th'iDg." 

"  An'  it  please  you,  dame,  I  will  take  the  boy  Wil- 
liam to  our  house  till  things  are  more  settled  than  they 
now  are,"  observed  the  draper's  wife. 

"  And  I  will  move  m)  Timothy  to  be  a  mean  for  set- 
ting your  good  man  on  his  legs  again,"  said -the  other, 
as  affectionately. 

"  I  heartily  thank  you,"  was  all  Dame  Shakspeare 
could  say  in   reply. 

"  Prithee  look  a  little  more  cheerful,"  cried  the  wid- 
ow. "  Smile  a  bit  now — 'twould  do  you  wonderful 
<:ood,  I  warrant  ;  and  a  famous  burst  of  laughing  would 
be  worth  any  money  to  you." 


154  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

Their  attention  was,  at  this  moment,  attracted  by  some 
loud  talking  in  the  adjoining  chamber  or  warehouse, 
which  proved  to  be  Master  Buzzard's  man,  Saul,  con- 
ducting of  himself  with  intolerable  insolency  towards 
John  Shakspeare,  evidently  with  a  view  of  provoking 
him  to  some  breach  of  the  peace. 

"  Humph  I"  exclaimed  he  carelessly  beating  of  his 
boot  with  an  ashen  stick  he  had  with  him,  as  he  stared 
about  the  naked  chamber  with  exceeding  impudence, 
"  methinks  thy  wits  must  needs  take  to  wool-gathering, 
to  help  thee  to  a  new  stock,  else  must  thy  customers 
lack  serving,  for  here  is  as  goodly  a  show  of  nothing  as 
ever  I  saw." 

"  Get  thee  gone,  fellow  !"  observed  John  Shakspeare, 
with  that  indifference  an  honest  man  ever  feels  at  the 
insults  of  a  low  villain. 

"  Fellow  !"  cried  Saul  sharply,  "  who  dost  call  fellow,  1 
prithee  ?  I  have  a  few  pounds,  at  least,  stored  up,  with 
a  something  in  my  purse  to  spend  ;  but  thou  art  not 
worth  a  pinch  of  salt  with  all  thou  hast,  is  more  than 
I  can  see  any  color  of  warrant  for  thinking.  Marry,  I 
marvel  to  hear  beggars  give  their  betters  ill  words." 

"  Wilt  get  thee  gone  ?"  cried  the  other  in  a  louder 
key  ;  "  what  dost  want  here  ?  Say  thy  business,  and 
be  off." 

"  Business,  quotha !"  exclaimed  the  man,  with  a 
sneering  laugh,  "  O'  my  life,  this  be  a  rare  place  for  busi- 
ness. What  hast  got  to  sell,  John  Shakspeare — spider's 
webs?  l'faith,  'tis  like  thou  wilt  drive  a  brave  trade 
anon,  provided  thou  canst  keep  up  a  fair  demand  for 
such  merchandise.'' 

"O'  my  word,  if  thou  dost  not  take  thyself  quietly 
out  of  my  dwelling  in  a  presently,  I  will  turn  thee  out," 
said  John  Shakspeare,  determinedly. 

"  Ha,  indeed,"  replied  the  fellow,  twirling  his  stick 
about,  and  eyeing  his  companion  superciliously  from 
head  to  foot,  "  an'  I  be  not  hugely  mistaken,  'twould 
take  a  somewhat  better  man  than  thou  art,  to  do  any 
such  thing." 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  155 

"Away,  fellow !  thou  art  contemptible,"  exclaimed 
the  other,  making  great  efforts  to  withhold  his  anger  ; 
"  an'  I  were  but  half  as  vile  a  wretch  as  thou,  I  would 
take  me  a  rope  and  hang  myself  without  another  word/' 
"  How  darest  thou  call  names,  thou  pitiful,  beggarly 
wretch  !  "  cried  Saul,  approaching  his  companion  with 
a  savage  menacing  look.  "  Dost  think  to  play  the  high 
bailiff  again  ?  'Slife  1  hear  I  any  more  of  thy  bouncing 
speech,  I'll  crack  thy  crown  for  thee." 

"  Wouldst !  "  exclaimed  John  Shakspeare,  seizing 
the  fellow  so  suddenly  by  the  collar  of  his  jerkin,  that 
he  had  no  time  for  putting  of  his  threat  in  execution. 
"  Wouldst,  caitiff!  "  continued  he,  shaking  him  in  his 
strong  grasp  till  he  appeared  to  have  shook  all  his  breath 
away.  Then  drawing  him  close  to  his  breast,  he  thrust 
his  insulter  from  him  with  such  force,  that  he  sent  him 
reeling  to  the  other  end  of  the  chamber,  saying,  "Get 
thee  gone  for  a  villian  !  " 

As  soon  as  the  man  got  his  footing  he  was  for  flying 
at  the  other  in  a  horrible  deadly  rage,  to  do  him  some 
mischief,  when  he  was  stopped  by  the  Widow  Pippins, 
Mistress  Malmsey,  and  Mistress  Dowlas,  rushing  in  be- 
fore him  from  out  of  the  adjoining  chamber. 

"  Away,  thou  scurvy  rogue  !  "  exclaimed  the  widow. 
"  Get  thee  hence,  thou  pitiful   rascal,  or   I   will   clout 
thy  head  off! "    cried   the  vintner's   wife,  with   no  less 
earnestness. 

"  By  my  troth,  an'  thou  stayest  here  another  minute, 
I'll  be  as  !_rocd  as  hansjin^  to  thee,  thou  intolerable  vil- 
lain  !  "  added  Mistress  Dowlas,  in  as  great  a  rage  as 
either. 

"  Go  to,  thou  art  a  drab  !  "  said  Saul,  impudently,  as 
he  tried  to  push  by  them. 

"Am  I' a  drab,  fellow  ?  "  exclaimed  Mistress  Malm- 
sey, hitting  of  him  a  box  on  the  ear  with  all  the  strength 
of  her  arm. 

"  Dost  call  me  drab,  villain  !  "  cried  the  draper's 
wife,  giving  him  so  sore  a  one  on  the  other  side  of  his 
head  that  it  nearly  turned  him  round. 


156  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  I'll  drab  thee  !  "  said  the  widow,  lifting  up  her  foot 
the  next  moment,  and  giving  him  a  kick  behind  of  such 
force  it  sent  him  some  paces  ;  and  the  three  women  fol- 
lowed him  up  with  such  vigor,  that  after  standing  a  mo- 
ment, quite  bewildered  with  the  quickness  and  fierceness 
of  their  blows,  the  fellow  was  fain  to  take  to  his  heels  ; 
but  not  before  the  widow  had  given  him  a  parting  bene- 
diction with  her  foot,  in  the  use  of  which  she  showed  a 
marvelous  cleverness — that  gave  him  a  good  start  to  be- 
gin  with. 

"As  I  live  that  was  well  done  of  us  !  "  exclaimed  the 
merry  widow,  as  soon  as  Saul  had  disappeared,  and 
laughing  with  her  usual  free-heartedness  ;  "  never  knew 
I  so  goodly  a  foot-ball,  or  ever  played  so  famous  a  game. 
Indeed,  'twas  exquisite  sport.  I  would  not  have  missed 
my  share  in  it  for  another  husband.  O'  my  life,  an'  he 
findeth  himself  comfortable  sitting  for  the  next  month, 
he  must  be  rarely  fashioned.  He  must  needs  forswear 
chairs,  and  rest  as  gingerly  on  a  stool  as  would  a  cow 
upon  broken  bottles.     I'faith,  'twas  rare  sport  !  " 

The  other  two  appeared  to  be  nearly  as  well  amused, 
as  they  returned  to  Dame  Shakspeare,  who  had  coinc  as 
far  as  the  door  in  some  alarm,  when  her  neighbors  burst 
into  the  warehouse  ;  but  there  were  two  others,  who  had 
observed  Saul's  insolence  from  the  kitchen,  and  these 
were  Maud  and  Humphrey,  and  were  quite  as  much 
moved  at  it  as  any  there.  The  former  had  been  crying 
ever  since  the  seizure,  and  the  other  had  been  endeavoring, 
with  a  vast  show  of  awkward  affectioaateness,  to  give  her 
some  comfort. 

"  Humphrey  !  "  cried  she,  suddenly  jumping  up  from 
the  ground  where  she  had  been  sitting,  at  hearing  of  her 
master  so  insulted,  and  gazing  on  her  companion  with  a 
very  monstrous  earnestness  ;  "An'  thou  dost  not  go  and 
cudgel  that  knave  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  I'll  forswear 
thy  company.  Ay,"  added  she  with  a  most  moving  em- 
phasis ;  "  though  I  die  a  maid  for't !  " 

"  By  goles,  thou  shall  never  do  so  horrid  a  thing  !  " 
exclaimed  Humphrey,  hastily  catching  hold  of  a  cudgel 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  157 


• 


that  had  often  done  good  service  on  himself  and  darting 
out  at  the  back  door  as  Saul  made  his  exit  at  the  front. 
Now  Humphrey  was  not  much  given  to  valor :  indeed, 
to  speak  the  exact  truth,  he  could  be  terrible  fearful  upon 
occasions  ;  but  what  will  not  love  do  ?  All  at  once 
Humphrey  felt  himself  a  hero  ;  and  to  save  his  Maud 
from  so  unnatural  a  catastrophe  as  she  had  threatened, 
he  would  that  moment  have  dared  any  danger,  had 
it  been  ever  so  great.  As  he  proceeded  quickly  along, 
he  threw  out  his  arms,  jerked  up  his  head,  expanded  his 
chest,  and  flourished  his  cudgel,  with  the  air  of  a  con- 
queror. No  one  knew  Humphrey.  I  doubt  hugely 
Humphrey  knew  himself,  he  was  so  changed. 

Saul  left  John  Shakspeare's  house  in  a  terrible  bad 
humor,  as  may  be  supposed.  His  head  seemed  to  spin 
like  a  parish  top,  and  as  for but  methinks  the  cour- 
teous reader  needeth  no  retrospective  allusions.  Suffice 
it  to  say  he  was  in  a  tearing  passion,  and  went  his  way 
monstrous  chap-fallen,  muttering  all  sorts  of  impreca- 
tions, with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  as  though  intent  on 
studying  every  pebble  he  trod  on.  All  at  once  some 
one  ran  against  him  with  such  force  as  nearly  to  send 
him  off  his  legs. 

"A  murrain  on  thee  !  dost  want  thy  fool's  head 
broke?"  shouted  Saul. 

"Ay*  marry,  and  why  not,  if  thou  canst  do  it !  "  re- 
plied Humphrey  in  a  big  voice  that  almost  frightened 
himself.  "  Go  and  bite  thy  thumb  at  a  stone  wall,  and 
be  hanged  to  thee  !  My  head  be  as  good  a  fool's  head 
as  thine,  I  warrant;  and  I  care  not  who  knows  it.  I 
tell  thee  I  take  thee  to  be  a  scurvy  villian  ;  so  have  it  in 
thy  teeth  thou  coal-carrying  knave  !  " 

"  Bravely  said,  Humphrey  !  "  cried  a  neighbor,  aston- 
ished at  such  a  display  in  one  so  little  noted  for  valor. 

"Well  done,  my  heart  of  oak!  "  exclaimed  another, 
patting  him  on  the  back  with  the  same  commending  spirit. 

"  Why,  thou  pitiful  worsted  knave  !  "  bawled  out 
Master  Buzzard's  man,  recovering  from  his  surprise  at 

VOL.  I.  14 


I  158  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

biing  so  abused  of  so  mean  a  person.      "  'Slife  !  an1  do 
I  not  beat  to  shavings,  I  am  a  Jew." 

"A  ring,  my  masters — a  ring  !  "  bawled  out  another  ; 
and  very  speedily  there  was  a  circle  of  some  twenty 
men  and  boys,  formed  round  the  two  combatants.  Nev- 
er were  two  persons  so  badly  matched.  Saul  was  the 
best  cudgel-player  in  the  whole  country  ;  but  all  Hum- 
phrey's knowledge  of  it  came  of  the  blows  he  had  had 
of  his  master,  and  not  without  deserving  it ;  yet  was 
Humphrey  the  favorite  of  the  spectators  beyond  ques- 
tion, all  of  whom  held  the  other  in  huge  dislike,  for  very 
efficient  causes,  and  Humphrey  was  so  encouraged  and. 
commended  of  them,  that  although  his  feelings  were 
somewhat  of  a  dubious  sort,  for  all  the  show  he  made,  it 
kept  up  his  valor  famously.  Presently  the  two  began 
playing  of  their  weapons  very  prettily  ;  but  Humphrey- 
was  in  so  monstrous  an  eagerness  to  pay  his  antagonist, 
he  did  nothing  but  strike  away  as  hard  as  he  could,  in  a 
manner  that  quite  confused  the  practised  cudgel-player. 
Saul  was  in  a  horrible  passion,  which  in  conjunction  with 
other  things,  mayhap  might  have  made  his  skill  avail 
him  so  little  ;  but  when  he  found  his  head  broke,  and 
beard  the  shouts  of  triumph  of  those  around  him,  he  be- 
came like  a  mad  beast,  and  struck  out  wherever  he  could 
at  mere  random.  Certes  Humphrey  got  no  lack  of 
thumps  ;  but  his  head  looked  to  be  to  the  hardness  of  a 
bullet,  and  gave  no  sign  of  being  touched,  while  Saul 
could  scarce  see  out  of  his  eyes  for  the  blood  running 
from  his  broken  head. 

As  it  was  now  a  mere  trial  of  endurance  ft  was  easy 
to  see  who  would  get  the  best  of  it,  for  Saul  might  have 
cudgelled  a  post  with  as  much  sign  of  success  as  he  had 
with  his  present  antagonist  ;  and  nothing  could  exceed 
the  gratification  of  all  present  at  the  heartiness  with 
which  John  Shakspeare's  man  gave  it  the  other.  In 
short,  Saul  got  such  a  drubbing  as  he  had  never  had 
since  he  was  born  ;  and  at  last,  when  his  strength  was 
nearly  exhausted,  a  sharp  blow  sent  him  to  the  ground 
like  a  stone.      Then   rose  a  shout  of  triumph  such  as 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  159 

Stratford  had  rarely  beard,  and  Humphrey  mounted  on 
the  shoulders  of  two  butcher's  apprentices,  and  followed 
by  half  the  town  hurraing  him  as  he  went — they  were 
in  such  delight  he  had  behaved  himself  so  valorously, 
and  punished  as  he  deserved  so  notorious  a  knave — was 
carried  like  a  hero  to  his  master's  dwelling. 

"  Maud  !  "  cried  the  victor,  as  he  entered  the  back 
door,  witl)  his  heart  swelling  with  exultation. 

"  Well,  Humphrey,  said  she. 

"  I  have  given  that  varlet  his  deserts." 

"Hast?"  added  she,  approaching  him  closely,  and 
looking  earnestly  into  his  face. 

"  By  goles,  I  do  think  I  have  gone  as  nigh  killing  the 
knave  as  was  possible." 

"  Hast  ?  "  repeated  she  with  a  smile  breaking  over 
her  chubby  cheeks.  '-'Then  here's  at  thee  !  "  There- 
upon she  suddenly  seized  Humphrey  by  his  two  ears 
with  her  huge  fists,  and  gave  him  as  hearty  a  buss  as 
ever  man  received  of  woman  sinjc  the  world  com- 
menced. 


160  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Mosca.     There's  nought  impossible. 
Vo'pone.     Yes,  to  be  learned,  Mosca, 
Mosca.     O  no  ;  rich 
Implies  it.     Hood  an  ass    with  reverend   purple, 
So  you  can  hide  his  two  ambitious  ears, 
And  he  shall  pass  for  a  cathedrel  doctor. 

Ben  Jonsoit. 
Withouten  bake  mete  never  was  his  hous, 
Of  fish  and  flesh,  and  that  so  plenteous, 
It  snewed  in  his  hous  of  mete  and  drinke, 
Of  all  deinties  that  men  could  thinke, 
Alter  the  sondry  sesons  of  the  yere. 

Chaucer. 
Of  an  old  English  gentleman  who  had  an  old  estate, 
And  kept  up  his  old  mansion  at  a  bountiful  rate, 
"With  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his  gale, 
Like  the  Queen's  old  courtier,  and  a  courtier  of  the  Queen's. 

Old  Ballad. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  William  Shakspeare  was  well 
off  in  his  schooling  under  so  ill  a  master  as  Stripes,  who, 
though  he  did  not  treat  him' uncivilly,  in  token  of  such 
welcome  gifts  as  his  mother  ofttimes  brought,  was  of  too 
ignorant  pedantic  a  nature  to  have  that  heed  which  a 
young  scholar  of  any  promise  requireth  :  nevertheless 
William  took  to  his  book  very  kindly,  to  the  wonderful 
admiration  of  Dame  Shakspeare  and  her  gossips,  and 
in  especial  of  Nurse  Cicely,  which  never  failed  to  bring 
forth  notable  prophecies  of  his  future  greatness  from  her, 
whereof  more  than  one  person  entertained  them  as  ex- 
ceeding credible.  There  was  no  wake,  or  lamb-ale,  or 
other  festival  in  the  neighborhood  the  boy  was  not  in- 
vited to  with  his  mother,  at  which  he  was  continually 
called  upon  to  repeat  such  verses  he  had  learned  of  his 
mother,  or  sing  such  ballads  as  his  nurse  had  made  him 
familiar  with  ;  and  the  goodly  manner  he  would  perform 
what  was  required,  so  won  upon  the  hearts  of  the  spec- 
tators, that  praises  out  of  all  number,  and  other  things 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  161 

more  substantial  in  great  plenty,  were  the  sure  conse- 
quences. As  soon  as  he  had  learned  to  read,  wonderful 
was  the  diligence  with  which  he  perused  all  manner  of 
books — albeit  he  quickly  exhausted  the  poor  stock  that 
could  be  had  for  his  reading,  for  these  merely  consisted 
of  a  few  volumes,  chiefly  poems  of  Dame  Shakspeare's, 
and  one  or  two  here  and  there  of  some  neighbor.  Cer- 
tes,  no  great  matter  of  knowledge  was  to  be  gained  of 
such  books  ;  but  they  served  to  excite  the  young  mind, 
and  keep  it  in  a  restless  yearning  for  more  delectable 
food  ;  and  therefore  were  not  entirely  unprofitable. 

It  is  not  to  be  imagined  that  a  child  so  disposed  took 
no  delight  in  the  proper  pastimes  of  his  age  ;  for  the  en- 
tire contrary  is  nighest  to  the  truth.  Among  all  his 
schoolfellows  who  entered  into  any  sport  with  such  ab- 
solute zest  as  Will  Shakspeare?  He  was  the  wildest  of 
any.  His  free  spirit  made  such  play  among  them  as  soon 
gained  for  him  the  liking  of  the  whole  school.  He  grew 
up  at  last  to  be  the  chief  leader  in  their  games — the  cap- 
tain of  their  exploits,  and  the  very  heart  and  principle 
of  all  their  revels.  If  Will  was  not  of  their  company, 
doubtless  were  they  as  much  at  a -loss  as  a  hive  of  bees 
without  their  queen  ;  but  when  they  were  heard  as  mer- 
ry as  cri  a  winter's  hearth,  calling  lustily  to 
each  other,  crowding  here  and  running  there,  sending  the 
football  bounding  along  the  grass,  or  leaping  over  each 
other's  backs  as  though  they  had  wings,  of  a  surety  he 
was  to  be  found  amongst  the  very  foremost.  But  it 
should  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  were  times,  and 
many  times  too,  when  the  day  was  in  its  freshest  glory, 
and  every  one  of  his  companions  were  enjoying  them- 
selves to  his  heart's  content,  he  would  be  in  some  out  of 
the  way  corner,  half  sitting  half  reclining  on  the  floor, 
leaning  deeply  studious  over  some  old  volume  he  had 
provided  himself  with  ;  and  the  merry  shoutings  close  at 
hand,  or  the  pressing  entreaties  of  those  he  most  liked, 
had  never  power  to  draw  him  thence  till  he  had  gone 
through  it  every  page. 

More  than  once   too,  when   they  were  out   together  a 

VOL.    I.  14* 


162  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

niaying,  or  nutting  in  the  woods,  he  would  stray  from  the 
rest,  perchance  led  away  by  the  sweet  singing  of  the 
birds,  or  the  delicate  beauty  of  the  blossoms  ;  and  in 
some  shady  place  would  sit  him  down  to  rest,  conning  of 
a  took  the  whilst,  he  had  carried  under  his  jerkin,  till 
somehow  or  another  he  would  fall  asleep, — and  O  the 
exquisite  pleasant  dreams  he  had  at  that  lime  !  At  the 
end  he  would  suddenly  start  up,  rubbing  of  his  eyes  and 
looking  in  every  place  for  the  great  multitude  of  the 
fairy  folk,  who  a  moment  since  in  their  delicate  finery 
seemed  to  be  dancing  so  bravely  before  him,  and  singing 
to  him  such  admirable  choice  ditties,  and  doing  him  all 
manner  of  delectable  courtesies  ;  but  finding  no  sign  of 
such  searched  he  ever  so,  he  would  be  in  huge  disap- 
pointment, till  the  shouting  of  his  fellows  woke  him  from 
his  strange  bewilderment:  and  he  would  then  make  what 
haste  he  could  to  rejoin  his  company. 

Of  his  disposition,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  it  savored 
of  as  much  sweetness  as  ever  laid  in  so  little  a  compass. 
There  was  no  aptness  to  sudden  quarrel  with  him — no 
giving  of  ill  words — no  beating  of  lesser  boys  than 
himself — no  tendency  to  mere  rude  mischief;  neither 
selfishness,  nor  covetousness  ;  nor  revengcfulness,  nor 
any  unmannerly  quality  whatsoever,  such  as  are  fre- 
quent in  other  boys  ;  but  he  would  give  freely  of  what 
he  had,  and  assist  those  in  their  tasks  who  were  back- 
ward, and  very  cheerfully  do  any  civil  thing  for  another 
that  was  in  his  compass,  and  could  not  bear  to  see  any 
cruelty,  or  tyranny,  or  unkind  treatment  of  any  sort  let 
it  be  amona  big  or  little.  From  this  it  will  readily  be 
conceived  that  for  his  master  he  had  but  small  affection, 
even  though  Stripes  used  him  with  more  civilness  than 
was  his  wont  to  others.  This  seeming  partiality,  how- 
ever, lasted  only  as  long  as  Dame  Shakspeare's  gifts  ; 
for  when  the  family  grew  to  be  too  poorly  off  to  send  him 
any,  the  school  master  showed  his  savage  humor  to  him 
as  much  as  to  the  rest. 

At  the  complete  poverty  of  his  father  by  Master  Buz- 
zard's  ruthless    proceedings,   it   was  thought   William 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  163 

would  be  taken  altogether  from  school  to  assist  his  pa- 
rents in  such  things  as  he  could,  for  he  was  now  grown 
to  be  of  some  bigness,  and  John  Shakspeare  had  not 
withal  to  keep  either  Maud  or  Humphrey — who  straight- 
way made  themselves  of  the  pale  of  matrimony — and 
was  striving  as  he  best  might  to  do  a  little  trade  as  a 
glover,  whereof  his  means,  with  his  neighbors  assistance, 
was  only  enough  to  accomplish  ;  but  it  was  resolved  by 
the  two  alderman's  wives,  who  were  the  prime  movers, 
of  all  things  is-bis  behalf  that  it  would  be  best,  as  he 
was  getting  so  forward,  William  should  keep  school 
hours,  and  assist  his  father  at  other  limes  ;  and  in  con- 
sequence, he  continued  to  receive  such  instructions  as 
Stripes  could  give  in  reading  and  writing,  the  science  of 
simple  arithmetic,  and  the  study  of  the  Latin  grammar, 
for  some  time  longer,  wherein  he  got  to  be  the  very  head 
of  the  school,  despite  of  having  so  unworthy  a  teacher, 
and  of  the  monstrous  negligence  and  wanton  insolencv 
with  which  he  was  treated. 

Now,  this  fellow  of  a  schoolmaster  was  in  the  habit 
of  using  his  boy  Dickon,  worse  than  any  turnspit  dog 
might  he  treated  by  a  brutal  scullion.  Whet  nis  wages 
were  has  never  been  known  ;  and  indeed,  save  in  the 
way  of  blows,  he  had  never  bad  anything  of  the  sort. 
He  got  such  little  victual,  that  it  was  supposed  of  some 
he  would  long  since  have  tailing  to  eating  of  himself, 
only  he  knew  not  where  to  find  a  mouthful.  Truly  flesh 
and  blood  could  not  stand  such  usage  ;  indeed  it  ap- 
peared a  I]  they  had  long  had  nought  to  do  with 
the  business,  leaving  skin  and  bone  to  manage  everything 
between  them.  Dickon  was  reduced  to  such  a  strait,  that 
if  he  caught  sight  of  a  cur  looking  for  bones,  he  would 
take  to  his  heels  presently,  with  the  full  conviction  the 
animal  would  mal  b  at  him  an'  begot  in  his  way. 
In  him,  however,  such  leanness  was  but  the  natural  re- 
sult of  poor  living ;  hut  his  master,  though  he  cat  and 
drank  greedily  whatever  he  could  lay  his  hand  on,  looked 
not  a  jot  more  full  of  flesh  than  ordinary.  Indeed,  he 
starved  both  his  boy  and  his  cat,  eating  from  them  their 


164  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

share  of  victual,  yet  seemed  to  carry  nigh  upon  as  hun- 
gry a  look  with  him  as  either.  His  tyrannical  humor  he 
often  enough  showed  upon  his  scholars,  but  this  was 
nothing  to  be  compared  with  the  savageness  with  which 
he  was  ever  falling  upon  poor  Dickon  for  any  Hiding 
faults;  and  it  was  his  custom,  when  he  fancied  there  was 
anything  amiss  in  the  poor  boy's  behavior,  to  drag  him 
into  the  school-room,  to  be  horsed  by  some  of  the  big- 
gest of  his  scholars;  and  then  he  would  lay  on  him  with 
a  great  rod,  with  such  fierceness  as  was  horrible  to  see, 
caring  not  a  jot  for  his  cries,  or  the  entreaties  of  the 
whole  school  lie  should  be  let  go. 

These  exhibitions  of  his  master's  cruelty  were  intol- 
erable to  William  Shakspeare,  and 'many  of  his  school- 
fellows ;  so  one  day,  after  such  a  sight,  he  got  several  of 
them  together  he  had  confidence  in,  and  they  being 
moved  with  wrath  and  indignation,  resolved  among  them- 
selves they  would  allow  of  it  no  longer,  no  matter  what 
might  follow  ;  and.  the  first  class,  which  were  the  chief- 
est  for  strength,  entered  into  a  bond  of  mutual  protec- 
tion. Others  of  the  greatest  spirit  were  drawn  into  the 
confederacy,  and  in  a  little  time  the  whole  school  was 
in  a  ferment  upon  the  matter.  The  very  smallest  of  the 
lot  was  seen  to  double  up  his  little  fist,  with  a  look  of 
vengeance  that  spoke  volumes  of  meaning.  All  things, 
however,  were  left  to  the  management  of  Will  Shaks- 
peare, and  every  one  vowed  to  stand  by  him,  though 
they  were  whacked  to  ribbons.  The  secret  was  well 
kept.  Stripes  had  not  the  slightest  knowledge  of  any 
such  feeling  against  him,  and  the  next  day  rushed  into 
the  school-room,  bawling  in  Dickon  by  the  car,  who  was 
making  of  a  pitiful  lamentation,  and  culling  him  mer- 
cilessly by  the  way. 

"  Will  Shakspeare  !"  shouted  the  schoolmaster ; 
"  horse  me  this  villain  straight."  The  boy  moved  not 
an  inch. 

"  Will  Shakspeare,  1  say  !"  thundered  Stripes,  with  in- 
creased rage  ;  horse  me  this  caitiff,  I  tell  thee."  Still 
Lis  scholar  kept  the  same  unmovedness,  and  every  one 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  165 

appeared  studying  of  their  tasks  with  more.than  ordinary 
diiigencif  nevertheless  their  little  hearts  were  a  beating 
famously."  * 

"  Why,  thou  villain,  what  dost  mean  by  this?"  ex- 
claimed the  pedagogue,  furiously,  letting  go  his  hold  of 
Dickon,  and  catching  up  his  cane.  "  I'll  make  thee 
hear,  I  warrant."  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  every 
boy  was  out  of  his  form. 

"  Now,  Tom  Green  !"  cried  one. 

"  Now,  Jack  Hemings  !"  shouted  another. 

"  At  him,  Dick  Burbage  !"  exclaimed  a  third. 

"  On  him,  Harry  Condell  !"  bawled  a  fourth  ;  and  in 
an  instant,  there  was  a  rush  upon  the  astonished  school- 
master from  all  parts  of  the  school. 

"  Ha  !  dost  rebel  ?'5  screamed  he,  making  furious  ef- 
forts to  cut  them  with  his  cane,  with  his  cadaverous  vis- 
age livid  with  passion.    "'Slight,   I'll  make  thee  rue  it!" 

But  for  all  his  terrible  efforts  he*was  speedily  over- 
powered. The  boys  came  upon  him  with  all  the  spirit 
of  ants  disturbed  in  their  nest  ;  some  clung  to  a  leg, 
others  to  an  arm.  They  jumped  upon  his  neck,  and 
hung  upon  his  jerkin  in  such  numbers,  that  he  could  do 
nought  in  the  world  but  threaten  them  with  the  horri- 
blest  imprecations.  At  this  sta^e  of  the  proceedings, 
Dickon,  who  had  regarded  this  sudden  movement  out  of 
his  wits  with  sheer  amazement,  was  called  to  hold  his 
back  to  take  his  master  on  ;  and  though  at  fust  he 
showed  some  sign  of  unwillingness,  he  was  soon  forced 
by  the  conspirators  to  do  as  they  bade  him. 

"I'll  have  thee  hanged,  villains!"  bawled  the  peda- 
gogue, as  he  was  being  hoisted  by  the  strongest  of  his 
scholars  upon  the  back  of  the  poor  boy  he  had  used  so 
inhumanly,  malgre  all  his  strugjjings  and  fumings.  "  I'll 
lash  the  skin  off  thy  pestilent  bones  !  I'll  scourge  every 
one  of  thee  to  death.     Let  me  go  thou  vile   wretches!" 

"  Hold  on,  Dickon  !"  cried  some. 

M  Keep  him  fast  my  masters  !"  exclaimed  others,  and 
shouts  of  encouragement  arose  from  all.  Dickon  did 
hold  fast,  doubtless   in   some  slight    pleasure,  for  all   his 


166  /  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

seeming  unwillingness,  and  he  bad  no  lack  of  helpers  in 
his  office  ;  so  that  Stripes  was  very  speedily  prepared  for 
that  punishment  he  had  with  so  little  discretion  inflicted 
upon  others.  As  soon  as  he  began  to  be  aware  of  what 
was  intended  for  him,  he  was  like  one  in  a  phrenzy. 
Mad  with  fear,  rage,  and  indignation,  he  redoubled  his 
threats  and  his  struggles,  but  all  to  small  profit;  for, 
whilst  he  was  held  down  as  firm  as  in  a  vice  by  some, 
others,  one  after  another,  laid  into  him  with  all  their 
might,  till  he  roared  for  mercy.  These,  then,  taking  the 
places  of  his  holders,  divers  in  their  turn  assisted  in  the 
tyrant's  punishment,  till  not  one  of  the  whole  school  but 
had  repaid  him  with  interest  the  undeserved  blows  he 
had  received  at  his  hands.  To  describe  the  joy  with 
which  all  ibis  was  done  by  the  scholars,  their  uproarous 
shouts  and  cheers,  or  the  horrible  bad  humor  of  their 
master,  is  clean  out  of  the  question.  I  doubt  not  it  will 
be  imagined  of  many.  The  end  was,  at  a  signal  he  was 
dropped  on  the  floor,  so  completely  tamed  of  his  tyran- 
nical humors,  he  would  not  have  struck  at  a  mouse, — 
where  he  was  left  to  put  himself  to  lights  as  he  might, 
— and  then  the  whole  school  took  their  leaves  of  him 
very   orderly. 

The  next  day  they  came  to  school  as  usual,  but  all 
in  a  body  ;  the  bigger  boys  first,  and  the  little  ones  com- 
ing after,  and  every  one  went  to  his  place,  and  took  to 
his  studies,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary. Doubtless,  they  had  come  to  a  resolution  to  have 
at  him  again,  showed  he  any  more  of  his  insufferable 
cruelties  ;  but  there  was  small  need  of  atiy  such  thing, 
for  there  was  never  so  altered  a  man  seen  as  was  Stripes, 
the  schoolmaster.  He  heard  them  their  lessons,  with  a 
sort  of  suavity  that  was  marvellous  beyond  all  things — 
praising  of  every  one  as  though  he  had  got  for  his  schol- 
ars such  prodigies  of  genius  as  could  not  be  met  with 
elsewhere — and  taking  no  more  thought  of  canes  and 
rods,  than  if  such  things  had  never  been  in  his  experi- 
ence. As  for  Dickon,  he  showed  his  master  a  lair  pair 
of  heels  directly  he  had  him  off  his  back,  and  was  short- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  167 

ly  after  taken  into  the  service  of  an  honest  yeoman,  fath- 
er to  one  of  the  scholars. 

It  so  happened,  once  on  a  time,  as  William  Shaks- 
peare  and  his  chief  companions  were  strolling  together, 
they  came  upon  the  town  crier  giving  note  to  the  inhab- 
itants, that  my  Lord  of  Leicester's  players  being  in  the 
town,  would  perform  a  play  at  a  certain  hour,  to  the 
which  the  citizens  were  invited  at  a  small  charge.  This 
put  some  of  them  in  a  monstrous  desire  to  behold  so 
goodly  an  entertainment — particularly  William  Shaks- 
peare,  who  had  beheld  nought  of  the  kind  in  all  his 
life  ;  but  others,  his  elders,  had  seen  plays  more  than 
once,  and  they  gave  him  such  moving  accounts  of  what 
exquisite  pleasant  pastime  was  to  be  found  in  them,  that 
he  did  nothing  but  wish  he  could  get  to  a  sight  of  such. 
Unluckily,  he  had  no  money  of  any  kind  ;  and  his  fath- 
er's necessities  were  so  great  he  knew  none  could  be 
spared  him.  What  to  do  he  knew  not  ;  for  though  ha 
could  get  standing  room  for  a  penny,  no  sign  of  a  pen- 
ny could  he  see  anywhere.  He  knew  that  divers  of  his 
schoolfellows  were  intent  upon  going,  and  he  would 
have  been  glad  enough  to  have  joined  them,  but  he  sa\r 
no  hope  of  the  kind,  by  reason  of  wanting  the  necessary 
price  of  admission.  It  however  did  so  turn  out,  that 
the  father  of  one  of  the  boys  was  an  especial  acquaint- 
ance of  the  head  of  the  players,  by  which  means  Rich- 
ard Burbage  not  only  got  to  see  the  play  for  nothing,  but 
moved  his  father  to  allow  of  his  schoolfellow,  Will 
Shakspeare,  having  the  like  permission  ;  which,  to  the 
latter's   extreme  comfort  was  granted. 

The  players  gave  their  entertainment  in  the  inn  yard 
of  the  Widow  Pippins,  on  a  raised  platform  in  front  of 
the  gallery.  They  were  not  troubled  with  scenery,  and 
made  no  particular  display  of  a  wardrobe  but  the  merrj 
interlude,  called  "  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,"  a  huge 
favorite  at  that  time,  which  was  then  and  there  played 
by  them,  required  little  such  accompaniment.  The  spec- 
tators, at  least  the  greater  number  stood  in  the  yard  ;  but 
those  who  chose  to   pay  more,   were  accomodated  with 


168  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

seats  at  the  gallery  and  casements.  William  Shakspcare, 
by  going  early  with  his  fellows,  got  a  front  place,  and 
waited,  in  a  marvelous  eagerness,  to  see  the  interlude. 
Presently  there  was  a  movement  made  by  his  neighbors, 
which  caused  him  to  turn  round  like  the  rest,  and  he  saw 
it  was  occasioned  by  the  entrance  into  the  gallery  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  his  lady,  and  his  son,  who  took  the  best 
places  ;  elsewhere  was  seen  Mistress  Malmsey  and  Mis- 
tress Dowlas,  in  their  choicest  finery,  pointing  out  their 
acquaintances  to  each  other;  and  either  up  or  down, 
half  the  good  folks  of  Stratford  might  have  been  recog- 
nized, intent  upon  nothing  so  much  as  seeing  the  play. 
At  last  the  curtain  was  moved,  and  a  beginning  was 
made  of  the  play  by  the  appearance  of  Hodge  and  Dea- 
con. The  pitiful  manner  in  which  the  one  complains 
to  the  other  of  the  bad  state  of  his  lower  garment,  and 
the  right  doleful  way  of  his  companion's  condolences  on 
the  matter,  were  recieved  by  the  audience  with  loud 
roars  of  laughter.  Then,  when  Deacon  acquaints 
Hodge  of  Gammer  Gurton  and  her  maid  Tib  having 
been  by  the  ears  together,  making  of  the  House  a  per- 
fect Bedlam,  and  the  other  protests  he  was  monstrous 
afraid  something  serious  would  happen,  having  taken 
note  of  the  awful  manner  in  which  Tern  Tankard's  cow 
frisked  her  tail,  there  was  no  less  mirthful  .  Upon 
Hodge  proceeding  homeward'  and  meeting  with  Tib,  and 
hearing  that  all  this  turmoil  had  been  occasioned  by  the 
Gammer  losing  of  her  needle  :  when  upon  spying  of 
Gib,  the  cat,  up  t*o  the  ears  in  her  milk-bowl,  she  let  fall 
his  breeches  she  was  clouting  with  all  diligence,  the  hu- 
mor of  the  dialogue  seemed  equally  well  relished.  But 
when  it  came  to  Gammer  Gurton's  terrible  to  do  because 
of  her  loss,  her  monstrous  anxiousness  to  recover  it,  her 
suspicions  of  the  honesty  of  her  neighbors,  her  intrigues 
and  quarrels  with  them,  and  the  interference  of  no  less 
a  person  than  the  parson  of  the  parish,  Dr.  Rat,  to  make 
peace  again,  there  was  choice  roaring  I  warrant  you  ; 
and  this  was  only  exceeded  when  Hodge,  upon  sitting  of 
himself  down,   discovered   the  lost  needle,  to  his  great 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  169 

smart,  in  consequence  of  its  having  been  left   sticking  in 
his  rent  garment. 

I  doubt  much  whether  the  finest  play  ever  writ,  was 
so  well  relished  of  an  audience  as  was  this  rude  coarse 
interlude,  of  the  simple  burgesses  of  Stratford.  Even 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy  laughed  as  though  he  wouid  never 
have  done.  As  for  William  Shakspeare,  it  made  such 
impression  on  him,  never  having  seen  anything  of  the 
sort,  that  the  next  day,  and  very  often  after,  he  was  to 
be  seen,  with  his  companions  Burbage,  Greene,  Condell, 
and  Hemings,  making  players  of  themselves  in  an  out- 
of-the-way  corner  of  the  town,  essaying  to  play  that 
very  interlude,  by  one  taking  one  character,  and  the  rest 
others  ;  and  it  was  said  by  some  who  saw  them  at  it, 
that  the  seeing  of  these  boys  aping  the  players  out  of 
their  own  heads,  as  they  did,  was  nigh  upon  as  rare  a 
sight  as  seeing  the  players  themselves.  All  these  five 
were  ever  at  it ;  and  the  playing  of  Gammer  Gurton's  Nee- 
dle took  the  place  of  all  other  sports  whatsoever.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  that  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  company  got  such 
reception,  they  repeated  their  visits  frequently  ;  and  young 
Burbage's  father  having  shown  some  talent  as  a  player, 
they  took  him  to  be  of  their  company. 

On  one  occasion,  William  Shakspeare  was  sent  with 
some  gloves  to  a  certain  Sir  Marmaduke  de  Largesse, 
living  at  Wilnecott,  at  an  excellent  old  mansion  there, 
who  delighted  in  keeping  up  the  country  sports  and  fes- 
tivals, and  was  noted  for  miles  round,  what  extreme 
pleasure  he  took  in  anything  that  smacked  of  antiquity. 
His  hospitality  was  unbounded,  and  his  table  was  ever 
loaded  with  the  choicest  of  good  victual,  to  which  all 
might  seat  themselves  according  to  their  quality  ;  and 
what  was  left  was  given  to  the  poor  by  the  porter  at  the 
gate.  No  one  ever  came  there  hungry  that  did  not  leave 
with  as  much  as  he  liked  to  eat  and  drink,  under  his  belt  ; 
and,  if  it  was  needed,  a  something  in  his  purse  to  carry 
him  alono\  In  his  cooking  he  was  more  careful  there 
should  be  a  good  plenty  of  wholesome  viands,  than  that 
any  show  of  extreme  niceness   should    be  visible    in  the 

VOL.    I.  15 


170  THE    YOUTH      OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

dishes  ;  and  as  for  what  he  gave  to  drink,  it  was  chiefly 
honest  ale,  of  his  own  brewing,  of  such  fine  flavor  and 
strength  as  was  not  to  be  matched,  go  where  you  would. 
Having  passed  through  an  avenue  of  lofty  trees,  which 
led  up  to  the  house,  admiring  as  he  approached  it  its 
fair  appearance  and  antique  character,  on  making  known 
his  errand  he  was  ushered  by  a  jolly-looking  butler  into  a 
spacious  stone-floored  chamber,  lighted  with  transome 
windows,the  walls  of  which  were  garnished  with  a  prodigal 
assortment  of  corselets  and  helmets  arranged  in  rows,  with 
coats  of  mail,  military  jerkins  or  shirts  of  leather,  hal- 
berts,  bucklers,  pikes,  bills,  crossbows,  and  all  manner 
of  the  like  weapons  and  defences.  An  oak-table  that 
went  the  whole  length  of  the  chamber,  was  covered  with 
smoking  viands,  brimming  black  jacks,  and  full  trench- 
ers. The  upper  and  lower  messes  being  divided  by  a 
huge  saltcellar, — all  around  was  a  busy  company  of 
friends  and  retainers,  doing  honor  to  the  feast  ;  and  at 
the  head  of  the  table  in  a  famous  tall  chair,  sat  a  ruddy, 
stout,  pleasant  faced  gentleman,  with  hair  and  beard 
white  and  plentiful ;  a  full  rufF  such  as  might  have  been 
in  fashion  some  score  of  years  since,  and  a  serviceable 
doublet,  with  trunks  and  hose  of  a  sober  color.  The 
hilt  of  his  rapier  came  up  to  his  breast,  but  he  held  it 
as  carefully  as  if  it  had  been  an  old  friend,  and  I  doubt 
not  would  sooner  have  gone  without  his  napkin  at  his 
meals,  than  without  so  approved  a  companion.  He  kept 
discoursing  cheerfully  with  those  nighest  him,  ever  and 
anon  glancing  his  eyes  round  to  see  that  the  carver  did 
his  duty,  and  that  all  were  well  served.  This  was  Sir 
Marmaduke  de  Largesse. 

William  Shakspeare  had  not  entered  the  hall  many 
minutes  ere  he  was  spied  by  the  old  knight,  who  in  a 
kind  voice  bade  him  come  near  and  state  his  business. 

"  Gloves,  eh!"  exclaimed  he  pleasantly,  upon  hear- 
ing of  his  errand.  "  Hie  then  to  a  seat  at  the  table — 
get  thee  a  good  meal  and  a  fair  draught — after  that  if 
thou  art  in  the  humor,  come  to  me  and  I  will  attend  thy 
business  with  all  proper  diligence." 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  171 

There  was  such  sweetness  in  the  behavior  of  this  old 
gentleman,  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  boy  hesitating 
to  do  what  he  was  desired,  even  had  he  cared  not  to 
be  of  the  feast,  so  he  went  with  due  deference  below 
the  salt,  where  place  was  cheerfully  made  for  him,  and 
every  one  of  his  neighbors  commenced  pressing  of  him 
to  this  and  the  other  tempting  dish  with  such  cordiality, 
as  soon  put  him  quite  at  home  with  them.  A  trencher 
full  of  excellent  fare,  he  quickly  found  smoking  at  his 
hand  so  enticingly,  that  he  was  fain  to  set  to  with  ex- 
ceeding good  will,  and  it  was  a  truly  pleasant  part  of  the 
entertainment  to  note  the  anxiousness  of  his  neishbors, 
that  he  should  have  what  he  liked  best,  and  as  much  of 
it  as  he  could  fancy.  In  all  honesty  he  made  a  famous 
meal,  and  after  drinking  sparingly  of  the  ale,  he  was 
ready  to  attend  to  his  errand.  Presently  a  most  thank- 
ful grace  was  said  by  the  chaplain,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes the  tables  were  cleared,  and  all  had  gone  their  sev- 
eral ways,  save  only  some  guests  who  kept  their  places, 
and  continued  conversing  with  their  bountiful  kind  en- 
tertainer. William  Shakspeare  did  not  move,  for  he  was 
waiting  for  some  sign  from  the  knight  of  his  being  at 
leisure. 

"Prithee  let  me  hear  that  ballad  of  William  the  Con- 
queror, thou  wert  speaking  of,  Master  Peregrine,"  said 
Sir  Marmaduke  to  a  curious  sort  of  pantaloon  looking 
person,  wearing  a  huge  pair  of  spectacles,  mounted  on 
his  peaked  nose. 

"  O'  my  life,  I  doubt  hugely  1  can  say  but  a  verse  or 
two,"  replied  Master  Peregrine,  in  a  thin  small  voice. 
I  heard  it  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  never  since,  nor  have  I 
met  it  in  print  anywhere,  though  1  have  searched  wher- 
ever there  was  likelihood  of  its  being  to  be  found.  In- 
deed I  would  give  something  to  know  it  thoroughly,  for 
1  doubt  not  'tis  exceeding  ancient,  and  one  of  the  very 
rarest  ballads  that  ever  were  made." 

"  Let  us  hear  what  of  it  is  in  your  remembrance,  I 
pray  you,"  exclaimed  the  chaplain,  who  was  one  with  a 
venerable  worthy    aspect,   and*  was  then    employed    in 


172  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

brewing  a  cup  of  sack  for  the  old  knight  and  his  guests, 
in  the  which  he  was  esteemed  famous. 

"  Well  said,  Sir  Johan,"  said  a  young  gallant,  a  near 
kinsman  to  Sir  Marmaduke.  "  1  love  an  old  ballad  as 
well  as  any." 

"  Thou  lovest  a  pretty  woman  better  of  the  two, 
Sir  Valentine,  I'll  warrant,"  cried  a  companion  merrily. 

"  That  doth  he  Sir  Reginald,  I'll  be  sworn,  or  he  is 
none  of  my  blood,''  replied  the  old  knight  in  the  same 
humor. 

"  Well  I  care  not  to  deny  the  impeachment,"  answer- 
ed his  kinsman  with  a  smile.  "  Doubtless  I  can  con 
either  upon  occasion,  and  get  them  by  heart  too  if  they 
be  worthy." 

"  Marry,  and  very  properly,"  cried  Sir  Marmaduke, 
and  then  with  a  famous  arch  look  added,  "  I  doubt 
though  you  would  like  to  have  your  pretty  woman  as  old 
as  your  ballad, — eh,  nephew  ?" 

"  No,  by  St.  Jeronimo  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Valentine  with 
such  emphasis,  it  raised  a  laugh  all  round. 

"  Well,  give  me  an  old  ballad  for  my  money,"  cried 
Master  Peregrine  with  a  marvelous  complacency.  "  Me- 
thinks  there  is  nothing  like  the  delicate  pleasure  it  afford- 
eth,  if  so  be  you  stick  it  on  the  wall  with  some  of  its 
fellows,  and  go  to  the  perusal  of  it  when  you  have  a 
mind." 

"There  the  ballad  hath  it  hollow,''  observed  Sir  Jo- 
han gravely,  yet  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  that  savored 
of  some  humor.  "Being  of  the  church,  perchance  I 
am  not  the  fittest  to  speak  on  so  light  a  matter,  but  in 
all  my  philosophy,  I  know  not  of  ever  a  pretty  woman 
who  allowed  herself  to  be  stuck  on  the  wall  with  her 
fellows,  were  it  even  for  a  single  moment."  This  sally 
also  occasioned  great  laughing,  after  which  Master  Per- 
egrine was  pressed  for  his  ballad. 

"  It  is  of  some  length,  said  he  ;  and  if  I  remember 
me  right,  is  writ  in  three  separate  fyttes  or  divisions." 

Then  each  of  the  company  listened  with  courteous 
attention,  Master  Peregrine  commenced  repeating  of  the 
verses  he  had  spoken  of, 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  173 

"  I  regret  my  memory  faileth  me  in  the  rest  of  the 
verses,  lor  1  doubt  not  they  would  be  found  well  worthy 
of  a  hearing,"  said  the  antiquary,  suddenly  coming  to  a 
halt. 

"  Think  awhile — mayhap  they  shall  return  to  your 
remembrance,"  said  the  chaplain. 

"  Ay,  do,  Master  Peregrine  ;  for  I  should  be  loath  to 
lose  any  part  of  so  goodly  a  ballad,"  added  the  old 
knight,  who,  with  the  rest,  appeared  to  take  infinite  in- 
terest in  it. 

"  Nay,  as  I  live,  I  know  not  a  verse  more,"  replied 
the  other,  seemingly  in  some  vexation  when  he  found  his 
thinking  was  to  no  profit.  "  Indeed,  I  should  be  heartily 
glad  could  I  meet  with  the  other  parts,  for  they  are  of  a 
very  singular  curiousness." 

"  'Ifaith,  I  should  be  well  pleased  myself  to  hear  the 
rest  on't,"  remarked  Sir  Marmaduke,  and  his  guests 
spoke  much  to  the  same  purpose. 

"  An'  it  please  your  worship,  methinks  I  can  give  you 
every  line  of  it,"  said  young  William  Shakspeare,  who 
had  fidgetted  about  sometime   without   daring  to  speak. 

"  Ha,  Gloves  !  art  there  ?"  exclaimed  the  old  knight, 
merrily  ;  "  in  very  truth  I  knew  not  of  thy  presence. 
Come  hither,  1  prithee." 

"  Dost  indeed  know  ought  of  it,  young  sir?"  inquired 
Master  Peregrine,  looking  at  the  boy  earnestly  through 
his  spectacles,  as  he  approached  him. 

"  Every  word,  an'  it  please  you,"  replied  William. 

li  Let  us  hear  of  it  then,  and  quickly,"  cried  Sir  Mar- 
maduke, putting  his  hand  kindly  on  the  boy's  head. 
William  Shakspeare  saw  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  ; 
yet  there  was  a  friendliness  in  every  aspect  which  nave 
him  nought  to  fear.  Standing  where  he  was,  with  a 
graceful  carriage  of  himself,  and  a  wonderful  pleasant 
delivery,  he  presently  went  on  with  the  verses. 

"  Bravely  spoken  !"  exclaimed  the  old  knight,  who 
had  observed  and  listened  to  the  boy  manifestly  with  a 
more  than  ordinary  satisfaction  in  his  benevolent  aspect. 
"  Never  heard  1  aught  more  properly  delivered." 

VOL.  I.  15* 


174 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE, 


"  Nor  I,  by'r  Lady,"  said  Master  Peregrine,  in  a  sim- 
ilar excellent  humor.  "  Where  didst  learn  this  exquisite 
ballad,  >oung  sir?" 

"  An'  it  please  you,  my  mother  taught  it  me,''  replied 
William  Shakspeare. 

"  Hast  any  more  such  in  thy  memory  !"  inquired  the 
other. 

"  A  score  at  least,  an'  it  please  you,''  answered  the 
boy;  "  most  moving  ones  of  the  doings  of  valiant 
hnights  ;  and  sundry  of  a  delicater  sort,  concerning  of 
the  love  of  fair  ladies  ;  besides  which  I  have  store  of 
fairy  roundelays,  that  I  learned  of  Nurse  Cicely,  which 
smack  most  sweetly  of  the   dainty  blossoms." 

"  O'  my  life,  thou  art  a  treasure  !''  exclaimed  Master 
Peregrine,  in  a  most   pleased  astonishment. 

"  Stick  him  against  the  wall,  I  prithee  !"  cried  Sir 
Reginald  merrily. 

"  Marry,  methinks  he  is  a  wall  of  himself,  or  at  least 
as  good  as  one  that  is  ever  so  well  covered  with  ballads," 
remarked  Sir  Valentine  ;  "  you  could  not  have  fallen 
into  more  choice  company,  Master  Antiquarian." 

"  So  thou  art  John  Shakspeare's  son,  of  Stratford," 
said  Sir  Marmaduke  kindly  to  him,  after  he  had  made 
the  boy  say  something  of  who  he  was  ;  "we  must  be 
of  better  acquaintance.  Come  thou  here  as  often  as  it 
pleaseth  thee  ;  and  if  thou  art  for  books,  I  have  some 
thou  wouldst  be  glad  to  be  reading  of,  I  make  no 
manner  of  doubt.  I  tell  you  what  my  masters,"  add- 
ed lie,  turning  to  his  guests,  "  I  have  a  pleasant  de- 
vice in  my  head,  which  perchance  may  be  exceed- 
ingly profitable  to  us  all ;  and  it  is  no  other  than  to 
take  this  good  boy  with  us  to  Kenilworth,  to  see  the 
queen's  highness,  and  he  shall  entertain  us  on  the 
road  with  some  of  those  rare  ballads  be  hath  spoken 
of." 

This  suggestion  was  heartily  received  by  the  com- 
pany, and  after  being  well  commended,  and  received 
bountiful  tokens  of  good  will  from  all,  William  Shaks- 
peare returned  home,  bearing  a  message  to  his  father  to 
the  effect  just  alluded  to. 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  175 


CHAPTER  X. 


See,  she  comes  : 

How  sweet  her  innocence  appears;  more  like 

To  Heaven  itself,  than  any  sacrifice 

That  can  be  offered  to  it. 


I'll  go  hunt  the  badger  by  owl-light 
'Tis  a  deed  of  darkness. 


Massinger. 
Webster. 


But  for  to  speke  of  vertuous  beautee, 
Then  was  she  on  the  fairest  under  sonne  : 
Ful  pourely  yfostered  up  was  she  : 
No  likerous  lust  was  in  hire  herte  yroune  ; 
Ful  ofter  of  the  wel  than  of  the  tonne 
She  dranke,and  for  she  wolde  vertue  plese, 
She  knew  wel  labor,  but  none  idel  ese. 

Chaucer. 

The  next  morning  early  there  was  a  wonderful  stir 
amongst  the  neighbors  at  noting  a  brave  cavalcade  enter 
Henly  Street,  and  stop  at  John  Shakspeare's  door,  and 
presently  there  came  out  the  boy  William,  whom  his 
mother  had  carefully  dressed  in  his  best  apparel,  griev- 
ing in  her  heart  she  had  no  better  to  give  him,  and  by 
his  father  was  set  upon  an  ambling  palfrey,  that  ap- 
peared to  have  been  brought  for  him.  All  of  his  ac- 
quaintance were  grouped  about,  marvelling  famously  to 
see  Will  Shakspeare  riding  away  in  the  midst  of  persons 
of  worship  with  as  great  an  air  with  him  as  he  were  a  lord's 
son.  They  could  scarce  believe  their  eyes ;  but  what  sweet 
pleasure  and  pardonable  pride  were  felt  by  the  parents, 
who,  after  their  respectful  salutations  to  the  good  knight 
and  his  company,  at  their  door  watched  their  young  son 
as  long  as  ever  they  could  hold  him  in  sight,  sitting  his 
palfrey  so  gallantly,  he  was  the  admiration  of  all  who 
saw  him.  I'faith  !  It  was  a  thing  to  talk  of  for  the  rest  of 
their  days,  and  the  good  dame  was  never  known  to  tire 
of  it. 


176  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEAKE. 

Away  they  went  ;  Sir  Marmaduke,  his  two  kinsmen, 
Master  Peregrine,  Sir  Johan  the  chaplain,  and  young 
William,  and  some  half  dozen  of  the  knight's  serving 
men,  all  on  horses  ;  and  their  passing  along  the  town 
made  the  citizens  come  running  out,  and  the  dames  were 
seen  lifting  up  their  babes  that  they  might  get  a  sight  of 
good  Sir  Marmaduke.  Nothing  was  like  the  respect 
shown  him  wherever  he  passed,  and  for  all  he  had  cor- 
dial greeting,  and  some  kind  word  or  another.  Indeed, 
he  was  held  in  especial  esteem  wherever  his  name  was 
known,  and  few  there  were  in  the  whole  country  who 
knew  it  not,  for  the  old  knight  was  a  gentleman  of  an- 
cestry and  blood,  of  exceeding  ancient  name,  and  of 
large  possessions,  whereof  the  greater  part  had  been  pos- 
sessed by  his  family  many  generations.  The  De  Lar- 
gesses had  also  held  high  offices  ;  had  been  famous  sol- 
diers, prelates,  judges,  and  the  like  honorable  persons, 
and  had  ever  been  known  for  a  fair  name  and  an  open 
hand.  The  present  possessor  appeared  to  have  inherit- 
ed all  the  good  qualities  of  his  ancestors  ;  and  though 
he  was  called  by  no  higher  title  than  good  Sir  Marma- 
duke, I  doubt  hugely  any  prouder  title  could  have  be- 
come him  better.  He  had  never  been  known  to  be  in 
a  passion  ;  and  though  ever  inclined  for  a  jest,  his  mirth 
had  no  offence  in  it  at  any  time.  There  sat  he  as  stout  of 
limb  as  of  heart,  on  a  noble  grey  horse,  sleek-coated  and 
well  limbed,  ever  and  anon  patting  his  graceful  neck 
with  some  commendable  speech,  which  the  poor  brute 
beast  took  as  proudly  as  though  he  knew  the  value  of 
such  behavior  from  so  respected  a  quarter. 

On  each  side  of  him  rode  his  kinsmen  in  all  the  brave- 
ry of  the  times.  They  had  gone  to  the  wars  in  their 
youth,  and  though  still  scarce  upon  manhood,  Sir  Val- 
entine being  but  twenty,  and  his  cousin  Sir  Reginald 
five  years  his  senior,  had  shown  such  valor  against  the 
enemy  that  they  had  received  knighthood.  The  first 
was  full  of  fine  chivalrous  notions,  as  became  his  soldier- 
ship ;  and  would  have  dared  all  manner  of  great  dan- 
gers to  have  gained  the  kind  opinions  of  fair   ladies,  as 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SIIAKSPEARE, 


177 


became  his  manhood.  Of  the  inestimable  sweet  pleas- 
ures of  love  could  he  think  by  the  hour  together ;  and 
when  he  took  to  his  gittern,  doubtless  it  was  to  breathe 
forth  some  soft  lay  learned  of  him  in  France  of  the  gal- 
lants there.  Yet  of  a  most  honorable  heart  was  he,  as 
became  a  true  lover  ;  and  his  rapier  was  ready  to  leap 
out  of  its  scabbard  at  the  bruit  of  any  wrong  done  to 
any  woman.  He  was  of  a  clear  transparent  skin,  where- 
on the  delicate  moustache  had  already  come  to  some 
conspicuousness,  and  the  sharp  outline  of  each  fair  fea- 
ture had  such  fineness  as  was  txquisite  to  behold.  Eyes 
had  he  in  color  like  unto  a  bright  sky  in  harvest  time, 
and  his  hair  was  of  a  soft  rich  brown,  that  grew  in  wav- 
ing folds  over  all  his  head  and  neck. 

Sir  Reginald  was  more  manly-looking  ;  darker  in  com- 
plexion, hair,  and  beard  ;  less  delicate  in  his  notions  ; 
more  free  in  his  speech  ;  and  was  as  ready  for  loving 
any  pretty  woman,  yet  did  so  with  an  indiscriminateness 
which  the  other  never  affected.  Both  were  strict  friends, 
as  they  had  proved  in  many  a  time  of  need  in  the  hour 
of  battle,  and  both  were  alike  honorably  disposed,  and 
of  unblemished  reputations.  These  two  young  gentlemen 
rode  their  palfreys  like  gallants,  putting  them  to  their 
prettiest  paces  one  against  the  other,  and  ever  and  anon 
turning  round  their  handsome  cheerful  faces,  with  one 
hand  holding  the  back  of  the  saddle,  and  the  other 
reining  up  their  gamesome  steeds  to  see  how  their  sport 
was  relished  by  their  kinsman,  who  it  may  well  be  be- 
lieved took  it  very  pleasantly,  for  he  was  ever  an  en- 
courager  of  any  innocent  pastime  that  served  to  make 
happy  the  passing  hour. 

t  Behind  them,  a  little  way,  rode  Sir  Johan,  the  chap- 
lain, who  would  sometimes  jog  on  alongside  of  his  good 
patron,  discoursing  very  soberly  concerning  how  bounti- 
ful Providence  had  been  to  the  surrounding  country,  seas- 
oning his  speech  with  such  learning  as  did  not  savor  of 
pedantry.  For  all  this  he  was  not  indifferent  to  a  jest  on 
any  proper  occasion.  Right  well  could  he  laugh  at  one 
himself,  and  with  as  much  aptness    furnish    one    for    his 


178  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

company.  Indeed,  he  was  one  of  those  rare  divines  who 
take  upon  them  to  think  that  whatsoever  good  thing  may 
be  met  with,  is  provided  for  our  especial  enjoyment,  and 
that  to  mislike  them  argueth  utter  ignorance,  a  wonderful 
lack  of  discretion,  and  a  most  unwarrantable  and  abso- 
lute ingratitude.  Therefore  Sir  Johau  was  never 
seen  with  a  long  face  and  a  miserable  preaching.  His 
orthodoxy  was  evidently  of  a  most  comfortable  sort.  It 
agreed  with  him  exceedingly,  and  sat  on  his  round  cheeks 
after  a  fashion  that  must  have  been  wonderfully  enticing 
to  all  wretched  fosterers  of  schism  and  heresy.  Yet 
was  he  no  Sir  Nathaniel,  but  his  very  opposite.  It  is 
true  he  would  eat  and  drink  heartily  at  all  reasonable 
hours  ;  but  then  he  never  forgot  to  give  as  hearty 
thanks,  and  always  conducted  himself  on  such  occasions 
with  a  creditable  decency  the  other  was  far  from  show- 
ing. Nothing  was  like  the  vigor  of  his  piety  after  he 
had  enjoyed  himself  to  his  heart's  content  ;  and  the  elo- 
quence, the  learning,  and  the  zealousness  with  which  he 
would  then  dilate  upon  the  marvelous  goodness  of  Prov- 
idence, carried  conviction  to  all  hearers.  His  scholar- 
ship would  have  become  a  bishop,  though  he  was  nothing 
but  a  poor  master  of  arts  ;  nevertheless,  he  was  content 
with  his  station,  and  like  a  wise  man  enjoyed  to  the 
full  whatever  honest  pleasures  it  brought  within  his 
reach. 

By  his  side  usually  rode  Master  Peregrine,  in  an  an- 
tique suit  that  might  have  belonged  to  his  grandfather; 
in  his  figure  an  admirable  contrast  to  the  full  proportions 
of  the  worthy  chaplain  ;  and  he  talked  to  the  latter,  or 
to  the  boy  riding  between  them,  when  he  could  not  get 
the  other  as  a  listener,  as  if  he  could  never  tire  at  it,  of* 
old  books  and  ballads,  their  histories,  contents,  character, 
form  and  complexion.  Indeed,  he  seemed  familiar  with 
everything  that  had  been  printed  since  the  invention  of 
the  art.  The  very  talk  of  a  rare  book  would  put  him  into  a 
rapture,  and  a  ballad  that  was  not  to  be  met  with  he 
would  think  more  precious  than  gold.  Then  he  would 
speak  in  such  choice  terms  of  Chaucer,  and  Gower,  and 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  179 

Wyatt,  and  Surrey,  and  a  many  others,  as  though  none 
could  he  of  so  great  account;  but  when  he  got  to  the 
speaking  of  ballads,  nought  could  exceed  the  delectable 
manner  in  which  he  dilated  upon  them,  in  especial  of 
such  as  were  of  a  by-gone  age. 

William  Shakspeare,  as  he  rode  between  these  two 
last,  learned  more  of  books  than  he  had  known  all  his 
days  before.  Nothing  could  be  so  pleasant  to  him  as 
such  discourse.  He  listened  with  such  earnestness  as 
was  the  admiration  of  his  companions,  and  asked  ques- 
tions so  to  the  purpose,  that  they  were  never  indisposed 
to  answer  him.  More  and  more  delighted  was  he  to  hear 
such  famous  books  might  be  met  with  as  those  notable 
classic  authors,  both  Greeks  and  Latins,  Sir  Johan  spoke 
so  learnedly  on,  and  those  exquisite  sweet  poets  and  ro- 
mancers Master  Peregrine  mentioned  so  lovingly  ;  and 
he  was  quite  in  an  ecstacy  when  they  promised  to  make 
him  better  acquainted  with  their  worth  at  such  times  as 
he  chose  to  visit  them  at  Sir  Marmaduke's  mansion.  So 
rode  he  along  in  his  neat  suit  of  frolic  green,  as  much  at 
his  ease  as  any  of  the  company,  till  he  was  called  upon 
to  furnish  their  entertainment,  as  had  been  designed  ;  and 
then  he  unfolded  his  store  of  ballads,  and  Master  Per- 
egrine assisted  him  with  such  particulars  of  their  history 
as  had  come  to  his  knowledge,  that  all  allowed  so  proper 
a  companion  for  a  journey  they  could  never  have  met 
with. 

On  they  proceeded  in  this  orderly  manner  till  they 
came  to  the  town  of  Long  Ichington,  some  seven  miles 
distant,  where  my  Lord  of  Leicester  had  erected  a  tent 
of  such  capaciousness'  and  grandeur,  never  was  seen  the 
,  like  ;  and  here  it  was  intended  to  give  her  Majesty  a 
truly  magnificerit  banquet,  previous  to  her  departure  to 
his  Lordship's  famous  Castle  of  Kenil worth  she  was 
cominn:  to  honor  with  a  visit.  Now  it  should  be  known 
to  all,  the  Earl  of  Leicester  was  in  especial  favor  of  the 
Queen,  his  mistress.  No  man  more  so,  and  as  her  Majesty 
in  one  of  her  progresses  at  that  time,  had  given  him  as- 
surance she  would  do  him  such  honor  as  to  make  his  castle 


180  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

her  residence  for  some  little  while,  he  had  busied  himself 
with  prodigious  expenses  to  make  becoming  preparations. 
This  visit  of  the  Queen  engrossed  the  public  talk,  and 
as  a  knowledge  of  the  splendor  of  its  accompaniments 
got  abroad,  the  inhabitants  of  the  adjacent  neighborhood 
became  the  more  impatient  to  behold  them.  As  for  my 
Lord  of  Leicester,  he  was  diversely  reported  ;  some  as- 
serting there  was  not  his  like  for  a  prodigal  disposition  ; 
and  others,  though  they  cautiously  mentioned  the  matter, 
spoke  of  him  as  one  who  held  no  discipline  over  his  pas- 
sions, save  before  those  who  could  punish  him  for  his  mis- 
doings ;  and  that  he  scrupled  not  to  use  his  great  power 
to  the  furthering  of  any  great  wickedness  he  had  a 
mind  to. 

Be  this  as*it  may,  our  young  traveler  and  his  worship- 
ful company,  after  seeing  all  at  this  town  they  could  get 
a  sight  of,  departed  towards   the  evening,  with  her  Ma- 
jesty and  an  immense  concourse  of  her  royal  subjects,  to 
the  Castle  of  Kenilworth.     There,  at   her  first  entrance, 
was  beheld  a  floating  island  on  a  pool,  made  bright  with 
a  many  torches,  whereon  sat  the  lady  of  the  lake  with 
two  nymphs,  who,   in  very  choice  verse,  gave  her  High- 
ness a  famous   account  of    the  history   of  that  building, 
and  its  owners.     Close  by  was  a  Trilon  riding  on  a  mer- 
maid, at  least  some  eighteen  feet  in  length,  and  also  Arion 
on  a  dolphin.     The  Queen  passed  over  a  stately  bridge, 
in  the  base  court,  on  each  side  of  which,  upon   tall  col- 
umns, were   placed   a  store  of  all  manner  of  delectable 
gifts,  supposed  to  come  from  the  Gods,  such  as  a  cage  of 
wild-fowl  from   Sylvanus,  sundry  sorts  of  fruits  from  Po- 
mona, great  heaps  of  corn  from  Ceres,  vessels  of  choice 
wine  from  Bacchus,   divers  kinds  of  sea-fish   from  Nep- 
tune, warlike  appointments  from  Mars,   and   instruments 
of  music  from  Phoebus  :  which  rare  conceit  was  much 
relished  of  all,  and  shouts  rent    the  air  as  her   Highness 
took  note  of  them. 

All  this  afforded  wonderful  entertainment  1o  William 
Shakspeare  ;  but  his  marvel  became  the  greater,  when 
he  beheld  the  infinite   variety  of  such  things    which  met 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE. 


181 


him  at  every  turn.  He  could  never  tire  of  admiring  the 
rare  beauty  of  that  stately  castle  carved  out  of  the  hard 
quarry,  the  magnificence  of  such  of  the  chambers  as  his 
companions  got  him  access  to ;  and  the  ravishing  beauty 
of  the  garden,  with  its  bowers,  alleys,  obelisks,  spheres, 
white  bears,  with  the  ragged  staff,  the  armorial  bearings 
of  the  lordly  owner,  exquisite  flowers  and  delicious  fruits, 
that  met1  him  go  which  way  he  would.  Again  was  he  in 
a  great  pleasure  at  sight  of  a  cage  of  some  twenty  feet, 
the  outride  garnished  with  all  manner  of  shining  stones, 
the  inside  decked  with  fresh  holly  trees,  and  furnished 
with  cavernous  places, where  a  multitudinous  collection  of 
foreign  birds  of  all  parts  had  been  collected  ;  and  also, 
at  beholding  the  grand  fountain  in  fashion  of  a  column 
made  of  two  athelets,  back  to  back,  supporting  a  huge 
bowl,  which,  by  means  of  certain  pipes,  did  distill  contin- 
ual streams  of  water  running,  where  a  plenty  of  lively 
fishes  were  disporting  of  themselves,  along  side  of  which 
were  iVeptune,  with  his  trident  and  sea-horses  ;  Thetis,  in 
her  chariot  and  dolphins  ;  Triton,  in  company  with  his 
fishes  ;  Ptoteus,  herding  of  his  sea  bulls  ;  and  other  of 
the  like  famous  emblems,  set  in  eight  different  compart- 
ments, with  admirable  sculpture  of  waves,  shells,  and 
huge  monsters  of  the  deep,  with  the  ragged  staff  in  fair 
white  marble  at  top3and  gates  of  massy  silver  for  entrance. 
But  the  sports  that  were  then  and  there  enacted  for 
the  Queen's  pastime,  none  could  have  so  relished  as  did 
he,  especially  the  chase  with  the  savage  man,  clad  in 
ivy,  and  his  company  of  satyrs;  the  bear-baitings  and 
the  fire-works,  the  Italian  tumblers,  the  festival  of  the 
brideale,  and  the  games  of  running  at  the  quintain  and 
morrice  dancing.  Beside  which,  to  his  great  diversion, 
he  witnessed  the  Coventry  men  playing  the  old  play  of 
Hock  Tuesday,  representing*  in  a  sort  of  tilting  match, 
and  in  dumb  show,  the  defeat  of  the  Danes  by  the  Eng- 
lish, in  the  time  of  King  Etheldred,  the  which  so  pleas- 
ed her  Majesty,  that  she  bestowed  on  the  players  two 
bucks,  to  make  good  cheer  with,  and  five  marks  in  mon- 
ey, to  garnish  the  feast  ;  and  after  eupper,  the  same  even- 

roL.    I.  16 


182  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE* 

tag,  he  was  taken  into  the  castle,  to  see  a  play  of  a  higher 
sort  played  by  men  better  approved  in  their  art,  that  was 
then  writ,  and  played  for  her  Majesty's  particular  delec- 
tation ;  and  though  it  lasted  two  long  hours,  he  was  so 
enamored  of  the  "manner  in  which  it  was  set  forth,  he 
would  have  been  glad  enough  to  have  stayed  all  night, 
had  they  not  come  to  an  ending. 

All  this,  and  wonderful  deal  more  of  splendor,  pa- 
geantry, and  pastime,  was  continued  in  infinite  variety 
for  nineteen  days,  with  such  prodigal  feasting  and  re- 
joicing as  none  had  previously  been  acquainted  with  ; 
and  the  entire  of  it  good  Sir  Marmaduke  took  care  his 
young  companion  should  see,  during  which  he  had  him 
as  well  lodged,  and  as  carefully  provided,  as  if  he  had 
been  his  own  son,  he  was  so  wellpleased  with  him  ;  and 
either  he,  Master  Peregrine  or  Sir  Johan,  explained  the 
character  and  purport  of  such  things  as  he  knew  not  of, 
so  that  he  reaped  both  pleasure  and  profit  wherever  he 
went.  Everything  was  to  him  so  new  and  strange,  that 
he  was  kept  in  a  continual  state  of  pleasurable  excite- 
ment he  had  never  known  all  his  life  before-*-even  the 
choice  excellence  of  Gammer  Gurton's  needle  was 
eclipsed  by  the  singular  fine  recreation  he  was  then  en- 
joying. 

It  did  sometimes  happen  that  although  he  strove  ail 
he  could  to  keep  with  his  company,  they  would  get  sep- 
arated in  the  throng,  and  then  he  would  have  a  great  to 
do  to  find  them  again  ;  and  once,  after  the  old  knight 
had  promised  he  would  take  him  to  see  her  majesty,  of 
whom  he  had  not  as  yet  got  a  sight,  because  of  the 
crowd  of  nobles  that  were  ever  around  her,  a  sudden 
press  of  persons  going  in  a  contrary  direction  set  them 
so  far  asunder,  that  in  a  few  minutes  the  boy  found  him- 
self in  a  place  where  there  were  many  turnings,  of 
which  it  was  impossible  to  say  which  might  be  the  one 
his  friends  had  taken.  Believing  he  was  not  like  to  gain 
the  required  knowledge  by  asking,  where  such  a  multi- 
tude of  strange  persons  were  assembled,  he  chose  a  path 
with  the  determination  of  seeking  all  ways  till  he   found 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  183 

the  right  one.  He  wandered  up  and  down  the  green 
allies,  greatly  admiring  the  deliciously  various  trees,  be- 
decked with  apples,  pears,  and  ripe  cherries,  the  beds 
of  blushing  strawberries,  and  the  plots  of  fragrant  herbs 
and  flowers,  which  cast  beauty  and  sweetness  wherever 
he  walked,  yet  of  his  friends  saw  he  not  the  slightest 
sign  ;  indeed,  he  had  gone  so  far  he  at  last  met  with  no 
person  of  any  kind.  Getting  to  be  somewhat  bewilder- 
ed at  searching  so  long  with  such  small  profit,  upon  turn- 
ing round  a  corner  he  came  suddenly  upon  a  lady  and 
gentleman,  with  a  grand  company  at  some  distance  be- 
hind. The  gentleman  was  most  gorgeously  apparelled. 
Nothing  could  be  so  costly  as  the  rich  satin  embroidered 
with  gold  and  jewels  that  formed  his  cloak,  save  the  del- 
icate fabric  of  his  doublet,  wherein  the  same  glorious 
magnificence  was  apparent.  A  massy  gold  chain  of  a 
curious  fashion,  hung  over  his  breast — gems  of  price  glit- 
tered on  the  handle  of  his  dagger — his  sword  seemed 
wrought  with  the  like  preciousness — his  hose  were  of 
"the  delicatest  pink  silk,  woven  with  silver  threads  all 
over  the  upper  part  of  the  leg  where  they  joined  the 
trunks,  which  were  of  crimson  and  orange  color  prettily 
slashed  and  richly  embroidered  like  the  sleeves  of  the 
doublet.  The  rest  of  his  appointments  corresponded 
with  what  hath  been  already  described,  and  being  of  a 
fine  make  and  somewhat  handsome  countenance,  they 
became  him  infinitely.  He  appeared  to  be  play'ng  the 
gallant  to  his  fair  companion,  for  there  was  an  air  of  ex- 
ceeding deep  homage  and  admiration  in  the  looks  with 
which  he  regarded  her. 

The  lady  was  attired  in  a  full  robe  of  white  satin  or- 
namented with  rosettes  in  great  number, — in  the  midst 
of  which  was  a  pearl  in  every  one, — trimmed  w'.th  the 
richest  lace.  A.  ruff  of  lace  still  more  costly  lay  in  folds 
upon  her  neck,  surmounted  by  wings  of  stiffened  lawn, 
set  all  round  with  pearls.  Her  hair  was  combed  from 
the  forehead,  and  pearls  of  a  very  large  size  set  in  it, 
with  a  great  show  of  other  pearls  equally  precious  ;  but 
pearls    appeared    to  be  a  favorite   ornament,    for  besides 


184  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

what  have  been  mentioned,  they  were  in  her  ears, — 
they  were  round  her  neck,  and  upon  her  bosom, — a  long 
string  of  them  hung  down  to  her  stomacher, — and  they 
were  worked  into  the  material  of  her  dress  wherever 
there  was  place  for  them.  She  was  of  a  fair  complexion, 
well  featured,  though  she  could  not  be  called  in  her 
youth,  of  an  agreeable  aspect,  and  of  an  excellent  stately 
deportment,  and  appeared  to  be  listening  with  singular 
satisfaction  to  what  fell  from  the  gallant  at  her  side. 

"  What  ho,  my  young  master,  what  seekest  thou  ?" 
exclaimed  she,  upon  noticing  of  William  Shakspeare 
standing  looking  at  the  two,  as  if  so  dazzled  with  the 
brave  show  they  made,  he  knew  not  at  first  whether  to 
turn  back  or  go  on  ;  but  believing  them  to  be  persons  of 
worship  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  stood  respectfully  to 
let  them  pass. 

"  An'  it  please  you  I  have  lost  my  way,"  cried  he. 
"  I  have  been  forced  to  part  from  my  friends,  by  reason 
of  the  great  crowd,  and  should  I  not  overtake  them  soon, 
perchance  I  may  miss  seeing  the  queen,  the  which  fa- 
mous sight  they  were  proceeding  to  when  I  was  forced 
away  from  them." 

"  Hast  never  seen  the  queen  ?"  inquired  the  lady, 
seemingly  charmed  with  .the  ingeniousness  of  the  boy's 
manner. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  have  not,  by  reason  of  the  throng 
about  her,"  answered  he.  M  But  I  should  be  right  glad 
to  see  her,  for  never  yet  have  I  seen  a  queen  of  any  kind, 
and  I  have  heard  say  our  Queen  Elizabeth  is  a  most 
gracious  lady."  At  hearing  this  the  lady  looked  at  her 
companion,  and  he  at  her,  with  a  peculiar  smile,  doubt- 
less of  some  pleasant  manner. 

"And  suppose  I  show  thee  Queen  Elizabeth  my  lit- 
tle master,  what  wouldst  say  to  her  ?"   asked  she. 

"  Nay,  I  would  say  nought  of  mine  own  accord,"  said 
the  other,  "  as  methinks  it  might  savor  of  a  too  great 
boldness  in  me  ;  but  asked  she  of  rne  any  question,  I 
would  with  all  proper  courtesy  answer  as  1  best  could,— 
and  doubt  not  I  would  thank  you  heartily  for  affording 
me  so  brave  a  sight." 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  185 

"  By  my  troth,  well  said  !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  as  if 
in  an  excellent  satisfaction.  "  What  say  you,  my  Lord 
of  Leicester,  shall  we  show  this  youngster,  that  speaks 
so  prettily  what  he  has  such  huge  desire  to  see  ?"  added 
she,  turning  with  an  arch  look  to  her  gallant. 

"O'  my  life,  to  my  thinking  he  deserveth  no  less,"  re- 
plied the  nobleman. 

"  An'  it  please  you,"  said  William  Shakspeare  re- 
spectfully, "  it  seemeth  to  me  you  must  needs  be  the 
queen  herself !" 

"Ha,  young  sir!  and  why  dost  fancy  that?"  ex- 
claimed Queen  Elizabeth,  for  as  the  reader  may  readily 
believe  it  was  no  other. 

11  Because  you  have  so  brave  an  appearance  with 
you,"  answered  he,  "  and  look  so  gracious  withal 
Indeed,  an'  you  are  not  her  in  truth,  I  should  be  well 
pleased  an'  von  were,  for  never  saw  I  so  excellent  sweet 
a  lady." 

"  Indeed  !  But  thou  playest  the  courtier  betimes,  my 
pretty  master  !"  cried  her  majesty  in  an  admirable  good 
humor. 

"And  the  varlet  doth  it  so  gracefully!"  added  my 
Lord  of  Leicester,  who  seemed  to  be  as  much  taken  with 
him  as  was  his  royal  mistress. 

"  Here  is  a  remembrance  for  thee,"  said  the  queen, 
giving  him  a  gold  piece  out  of  her  purse  ;  "I  do  ap- 
plaud thy  wit  in  having  made  so  notable  a  discovery  ; 
and  doubt  not,  if  thou  goest  on  as  well  as  thou  hast  com- 
menced, thou  and  fortune  will  shake  hands  anon  !" 

Then  calling  to  some  of  those  her  officers  who  were 
behind  her,  her  majesty  gave  the  boy  to  them  with  strict 
charge  to  seek  out  his  friends,  and  deliver  him  to  them 
safely  ;  but  it  so  happened  he  had  not  proceeded  far  in 
such  custody,  when  he  met  them  ;  and  all  were  in  some 
marvel  to  hear  what  strange  adventure  he  had  fallen 
into. 

It  was  getting  towards  eve  of  the  same  day,  when  two 
persons  stood  close  under  the  terrace  that  lay  along  the 
castle.     One  was   closely    muffled  up,    and  endeavoring 

VOL.  I.  16* 


18G  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

all  he  could  to  hide  his  face  and  person  from  observation, 
and  he  kept  continually  turning  of  his  eyes  in  every  di- 
rection to  note  if  any  were  watching,  whilst  he  spoke  in 
a  low  voice  to  his  companion.  The  other  was  also 
cloaked,  but  seemed  more  intent  upon  hearkening  to  the 
discourse  of  his  associate  than  to  any  other  matter. 

"  Art  sure  of  her  person  ?"  asked  the  first  in  a  low 
whisper. 

"  I  marked  her  well,  my  lord,"  answered  the  other  in 
the  same  subdued  voice  ;  "  O'  my  life,  never  saw  1  so 
exquisite  fair  a  creature  !" 

"  Indeed  she  is  of  ravishing  perfections — a  very  angel 
in  the  bud  !"  exclaimed  his  companion  in  a  fervent  ec- 
stacy.  "  Fresh  in  youth  and  perfect  in  beauty  !  in  brief, 
I  have  never  seen  her  peer  in  all  my  experience.  Do  as 
I  would  have  thee,  thy  fortune's  made. 

"Count  upon  her  as  your  own  my  good  lord." 

"But  be  cautious,  on  your  life." 

"  Be  assured,?in  subtlety  I  will  beat  the  cunningest  fox 
that  ever  robbed  hen-roost." 

"  Away  !  I  cannot  stay  another  minute,  or  my  ab- 
sence will  be  marked."  Whereupon  both  glided  differ- 
ent ways  in  the  shadow,  and  were  no  more  visible. 

Among  the  company  the  fame  of  these  princely  pleas- 
ures had  attracted  to  Kenilworth,  were  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy  and  his  good  dame,  who  had  brought  with  them, 
as  an  attendant  to  the  latter,  no  other  than  their  pretty 
foundling,  the  gentle  Mabel,  now  grown  to  be  that  inde- 
finable delicate  example  of  feminine  graces  that  licth 
betwixt  girlhood  and  womanhood.  Under  the  careful 
instruction  of  her  patroness,  she  had  been  well  schooled 
in  all  such  learning  as  was  proper  for  a  young  person  of 
such  humble  fortunes  ;  but  of  her  own  natural  well-dis- 
posedness  she  acquired  such  wisdom  as  would  have  fitted 
her  had  she  come  of  the  noblest  families.  Of  her  parents 
none  knew  a  syllable  ;  and  dame  Lucy  fancying  none  but 
mean  persons  could  behave  so  meanly  as  to  desert  their 
child,  had  brought  her  up  in  such  fashion  as  showed  she 
considered    her  origin    to  be    of  the  humblest,   intending 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE.  187 

her  for  a  servant,  and  ever  attempting  to  impress  on  her 
mind  a  humility  corresponding  with  one  meant  for  so 
pitiful  a  conditio!?.  However,  having  resolved  she  should 
to  Kenilworth  in  their  company,  the  good  Dame  had 
taken  care  her  attire  should  be  of  a  better  sort  than  what 
she  usually  wore,  never  failing  the  whilst  she  gave  them 
for  her  wearing,  to  accompany  them  with  a  notable  fine 
homily  upon  the  wickedness  of  poor  girls  seeking  to  put 
oa  them  such  apparelling  as  was  above  their  station. 

Mabel  was  that  evening  standing  between  her  elderly 
companions  beholding  the  fire-works.  There  was  a  huge 
crowd  a  little  way  before  her.  A  strange  gallant  very 
courteously  directed  the  attention  of  the  knight  and  his 
lady  to  what  was  worthiest  of  notice,  and  in  a  very 
friendly  manner  gave  them  intelligence  of  what  was  go- 
ing to  be  done,  at  what  cost  it  had  been  made,  and  by 
whose  ski  I  fulness  it  was  constructed  ;  to  the  which,  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  in  especial,  gave  famous  attention,  enter- 
ing cheerfully  into  the  discourse,  and  striving  to  appear 
as  familiar  with  the  matter  as  his  instructor. 

'•  1  warrant  you  !"  exclaimed  he  ;  "  methinks  I  ought 
to  know  something  of  such  things.  Ay  marry,  I  have 
been   as   familiar  with   them    as  am    I    with   my   hand." 

"  As  I  live,  I  took  you  to  be  some  learned  gentleman 
when  I  had  first  sight  of  you,"  cried  the  stranger,  with 
an  appearance  of  monstrous  respect  ;  "  you  have  it  in 
your  face,  sir  ;  indeed  your  look  savoreth  so  much  of  sa- 
gacity that  none  can  mistake  it.  Doubtless  you  are 
some  great  Doctor  ?" 

"  O'  my  word,  but  a  simple  knight  o1  the  shire,  good 
sir,"  replied  the  other  in  a  famous  satisfaction. 

"  And  a  justice  of  peace,  Sir  Thomas,"  added  Dame 
Lucy,  anxious  her  husband's  greatness  should  not  be  im- 
perfectly known. 

"  1  would  have  sworn  it  !"  exclaimed  their  compan- 
ion. 

"  By'r  Lady  now,  is  it  so  visible  ?"  cried  the  other,  as 
much  astonished  as  gratified.  "  But,  as  I  was  about  say- 
ing, when  1  was  at   college*!    was  wonderfully  given    to 


188  THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

the  study  of  chemicals  and  alchemy  ;  ay,  to  such  ex- 
treme that  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt  I  should  have 
got  at  the  philosopher's  stone  had  I  kept  at  my  experi- 
ments long  enough." 

"  Of  that  I  am  assured,"  observed  the  stranger. 

"  But  my  chief  pleasure  was  in  the  making  of  strange 
fires  that  would  burn  of  all  colors,"  continued  the  knight. 
"  These  I  learned  of  a  famous  clerk,  who  was  studying 
chemicals,  and  was  considered  more  apt  at  it  than  any 
of  his  time." 

"  A  very  Friar  Bacon,  doubtless,  Sir  Thomas,"  said 
his  companion. 

M  Marry,  yes,  that  was  he,"  replied  the  justice. 

"  Now,  I  was  ever  a  letting  off  my  fires,  to  the  terror 
of  all  simple  people,  who  could  not  fancy  they  were  of 
this  world,  and  marvelous  proper  sport  had  I  on  such 
occasions  ;  for,  as  1  live,  I  was  such  a  fellow  at  tricks  [ 
had  not  my  match,  go  where  1  would." 

"I  would  I  had  known  you  then  ;  I  was  just  such  an- 
other," exclaimed  the  stranger,  very  merrily. 

"  Ay,  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  have 
seen  the  tricks  I  have  played,"  continued  Sir  Thomas, 
laughing  with  exceeding  heartiness.  "  I  have  been  as 
wild  a  cojt  as  ever  broke    his  tether,  I  promise  you." 

"  No,  indeed,  have  you  ?"  cried  the  other,  joining  in 
his  companion's  mirth  to  some-excess. 

"  By  cock  and  pye,  yes  ;  and  among  the  bona  robas 
too,"  added  he,  in  a  voice  and  manner  meant  to  be  still 
more  facetious,  as  he  gave  his  companion  a  sly  nudge  at 
the  elbow. 

"  Odds  my  life,  Sir  Thomas  !"  exclaimed  the  stranger, 
apparently  increasing  the  greatness  of  his  humor,  "  you 
were  a  fit  companion  for  the  Sophy." 

"  I  was  as  familiar  with  them  all  as  though  we  had 
been  cousins,"  added  the  knight,  after  the  same  fashion. 
"  Indeed  I  was  so  partial  to  these  pretty  ones,  that  if  any 
my  fellows  said,  c  Yonder  is  a  kittle/  off  would  I  start  on 
the  instant,  though  I  had  a  mile  to  run." 

«  Fie,  fie,  Sir  Thomas  !"  exclaimed  Dame  Lucy,  good 
humoredly  ;  then   turning   to  the  stranger  with  a   mon- 


THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEARE.  189 

strous  innocent  sort  of  countenance,  added,  "  Think  not 
so  ill  of  him,  good  sir,  1  pray  yon,  for  I  have  known  him 
this  thirty  year  and  more,  and  he  hath  never  done  ought 
of  the  kind,  I'll  warrant." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  believe  me  replied  the  other,  with 
more  sincerity  than  he  chose  should  be  known.  "  But 
if  it  please  you  to  come  a  little  more  to  this  side,"  said 
he,  with  exceeding  courteousness,  "  You  shall  behold 
what  is  far  beyond  what  you  have  already  seen." 

"  We  will,  and  thank  you,"  answered  Sir  Thomas,  ea- 
gerly, and  he  with  Dame  Lucy,  presently  moved  in  that 
direction.  » 

In  the  meanwhile,  another  courteous  gentleman  was 
paying  similar  attentions  to  the  lair  Mabel,  who  received 
them  in  a  thankful  spirit,  as  she  ever  did  any  appearance 
of  kindness  from  another.  He  told  her  the  wonders  of 
the  castle — the  great  power  and  princely  magnificence  of 
the  possessor — what  famous  noble  lords  and  fair  ladies 
were  of  the  company,  and'tlie  unparalleled  preciousness 
of  the  jeweled  silks  and  velvets  that  were  of  their  wear- 
ing; and  he  took  care  to  season  all  with  some  delicate 
flattery  or  another,  well  suited  to  win  the  ear  of  one  of 
her  youth  and    inexperience. 

"  indeed  these  nobles  have  a  fine  time  of  it,  me- 
thinks,"  said  her  companion.  "  They  have  everything 
that  heart  can  wish  for,  at  their  command  ;  and  any 
fair  creature  who  is  -so  fortunate  as  to  win  the  love  of 
such,  cannot  help  knowing  that  extreme  happiness  few- 
have  any  notion  of.  Dost  not  think  women  so  fortunate 
are  greatly  to  be  envied,  sweetest  ?"' 

"  Doubtless,  honorable  sir,  if  tUey  be  worthy,"  re- 
plied Mabel. 

"  Crowds  of  servants  come  at  their  command,"  con- 
tinued the  stranger,  more  earnestly.  "  Whatever  they 
can  fancy,  let  it  be  of  ever  such  cost,  is  brought  to  them 
ere  they  can  well  say  they  want  it — tbe exquisites!  sweet 
music  fills  the  air  around  them  day  and  night — all  man- 
ner of  ravishing  perfumes  of  dowers  and  herbs  and  odo- 
riferous gums,  enrich  the  atmosphere  they  breathe;  and 
he  whose  princely  nature   they  have    so    bound    in    their 


190  THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE. 

chains  as  to  hold  him  prisoner  to  their  admirable  lustrous 
eyes,  is  ever  at  their  will,  glorifying  them  with  his  praise, 
deifying  them  with  his  devotion,  and  making  every  hour 
of  their  lives  redolent  with  the  unutterable  ecstacies  of 
his  sovereign  and  most  absolute  affections.  Dost  not 
think  such  women  infinitely  fortunate  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  how  they  could  help  being  so,  were  they 
well  disposed,"  answered  the  foundling. 

"Just  so,  sweetest  one,"  observed  the  gallant. 
"  Now,  supposing  such  thing  as  this  should  happen  ; — 
some  such  noble  person  as  I  have  described — the  equal 
of  the  proudest — the  master  of  the  wealthiest,  getting 
sight  of  your  own  most  absolute  graces " 

"  What,  I?  "  exclaimed  Mabel,  in  a  famous  astonish- 
ment. 

"And  straightway  falling  enamored  of  the  bright  per- 
fections of  your  spotless  nature,"  continued  he  ;  "  his 
princely  heart  thrilling  with  the  divinest  sensations, 
should  be  in  a  feverish  impatience  to  cast  his  greatness 
at  your  feet,  and  all  out  of  love  for  such  inestimable 
choice  beauty  of  mind  and  feature,  should  be  ready  to 
fall  out  with  life,  if  by  chance  you  deny  him  the  happi- 
ness he  would  find  in   your  inestimable  company." 

"Surely,  you  are  jesting,  good  sir,"  observed  his  fair 
companion.  "  I  know  not  of  such  things  as  you  speak 
of.  Indeed,  I  am  so  humble  a  person,  none  such  as  you 
have  said,  would  ever  trouble  themselves  about  me  for  a 
single  moment  ;  nevertheless  I  thank  you  kindly  for 
your  good  opinion  of  me,  and  should  be  right  glad  to 
possess  any  merit  that  would  make  me  deserve  it  better 
than  I  do." 

"  That  cannot  be,  o'  my  life,  excellent  creature  ?  " 
replied  the  gallant,  with  a  seeming  fervor.  "  'Tis  your 
too  great  modesty  that  prevented)  you  from  seeing  your 
own  notable  divine  excellences." 

"  Indeed  you  think  too  well  of  me — I  have  no  sign  of 
any  such  thing,"  said  Mabel  ;  her  truly  unassuming  na- 
ture shrinking  from  the  flattery  ;  then  looking  round,  for 
the  first  time  observed  that  Sir  Thomas  and  Dame  Lucy 
were  nowhere  near  her.     "Alack  !  where  can  they  have 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


191 


gone  !  "  exclaimed  she,  in  some  to  do.  They  will  be 
exceeding  angry  I  took  not  better  heed  to  keep  close  to 
them  wherever  they  went,  as  they  told  me." 

"  Speak  you  of  your  friends,  sweetest  ?  "  inquired  the 
other,  in  an  indifferent  manner.  "  1  saw  them  myself 
not  a -moment  since,  moving  round  this  way.  If  you 
will  allow  of  my  protection,  1  will  take  care  you  join 
them  so  soon  you  shall  not  be  missed  at  all." 

"  I  should  be  loth  to  put  you  to  such  trouble  on  my 
account,  I  thank  you  heartily,"  answered  his  fair  com- 
panion, "I  will  seek  them  myself  the  way  you  have 
kindly  told  me."  Thereupon  she  moved  in  that  direc- 
tion, the  gallant  keeping  at  her  side,  but  not  a  sign  of 
the  knight  or  his  good  dame  could  they  see. 

"  Woe  is  me,  I  have  lost  all  sight  of  them  !  "  cried 
Mabel,  now  in  no  little  trouble  of  mind.  "  How  heed- 
less I  must  have  been  to  have  let  them  go  away  with- 
out my  knowing  it. 

"Surely  there  they  are,  yonder!"  exclaimed  the 
stranger,  pointing  to  two  figures  dimly  discerned  at  the 
top  of  one  of  the  green  alleys,  walking  slowly  away. 

"  Indeed  they  have  some  likeness  to  them,"  she  re- 
plied, yet  seeming  to  hesitate  about  their  identity. 

•''They  cannot  be  any  other,  1  would  swear  it,"  said 
the  gallant,  with  monstrous  earnestness  ;  "  see  you  not 
the  knight's  very  doublet  ?  nay,  an'  you  do  not  make 
some  speed,  they  will  turn  the  coiner,  and  mayhap  you 
may  lose  sight  of  them  altogether."  Thereupon  Mabel, 
without  another  word,  tripped  lightly  along  the  path — 
her  companion  still  keeping  close  to  her  side — and  when 
they  got  to  the  top  they  beheld  the  two  persons  they 
had  seen  turning  round  a  corner  into  an  alley  beyond  ; 
at  the  sight  of  which  the  poor  foundling  started  off  again 
in  great  anxiety  to  overtake  them,  but  with  no  better 
success  ;  for  however  fast  she  ran,  as  she  got  to  the  end 
of  one  path,  the  figures  were  seen  turning  round  at  the 
end  of  another,  and  so  it  continued  for  such  a  time  she 
would  have  given  up  the  pursuit  in  despair,  had  not  the 
gallant  kept  encouraging  her  to  proceed.  At  last,  when 
she  was  nigh    exhausted    with   her   exertions,  and  in  ex- 


19*2  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSFEARE. 

treme  discomfort,  because  now  she  saw  no  appearance 
whatever  of  those  she  took  to  be  the  knight  and  his  lady, 
on  a  sudden  she  heard  a  loud  whistle  behind  her,  that 
appeared  to  come  from  her  companion, — the  which  it 
did  beyond  all  contradiction,  for  he  had  that  moment  put 
a  whistle  to  his  mouth, — and  ere  she  could  think  what 
was  the  meaning  of  such  strange  behavior,  two  or  three 
stout  fellows  rushed  from  a  grove  of  trees  close  at  hand, 
and,  despite  of  a  sharp  scream  she  gave,  threw  a  large 
cloak  over  her,  in  the  which  she  was  muffled  up  in  a 
minute,  and  borne  helplessly  along. 

"Never  was  hawk  lured  so  cleverly,"  said  the  gallant, 
in  evident  gratification  at  the  complete  success  of  his 
villainous  scheme. 

"  She  is  now  hooded,  and  must  to  her  mews  with  what 
speed  we  can.  Slight !  "  here  sharply  exclaimed  he, 
seemingly  in  a  very  absolute  vexation  ;  "  what  pestilent 
interruption  is  this  ?— But  they  are  but  two,  so  haste,  for 
your  lives,  we  can  give  them  work  enough,  prove  they 
for  meddling." 

It  so  happened  that  Sir  Valentine  and  his  friend  were 
together  in  an  adjoining  walk,  when  they  heard  the 
whistle,  and  the  scream  following  close  upon  it  ;  their 
rapiers  were  out  in  an  instant,  and  they  were  just  in 
time  to  see  a  female  muffled  up  and  borne  away.  This 
brought  them  to  the  spot  presently.  Two  of  the  villains 
carried  Mabel,  and  were  making  off,  whilst  their  com- 
panions were  engaged  with  the  young  knights,  who  were 
using  their  weapons  briskly  with  each  an  opponent  ; 
but  suddenly  coming  to  the  rest  of  Sir  Valentine's  party, 
led  by  Sir  Marmaduke,  who  bad  plucked  out  his  trusty 
rapier,  the  moment  he  heard  the  clashing  of  blades,  his 
imposing  appearance  struck  a  panic  amongst  them. 
The  two  fellows  dropped  their  burthen,  without  caring 
to  make  his  acquaintance,  and,  with  the  rest,  made  off  in 
different  directions. 

It  was  difficult  to  say  which  was  most  affected  with 
the  unusual  loveliness  of  the  gentle  Mabel,  Sir  Valen- 
tine or  Sir  Reginald,  as  they  disengaged  her  from  her 
unwelcome  covering,  whilst  the  others  assured  her  of  her 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  193 

perfect  safety.  They  were  dumb  with  excess  of  admir- 
ation. Nothing  they  had  seen  or  imagined  came  in  any 
way  like  the  exquisite  innocency  and  faultless  loveliness  of 
her  features.  She  seemed  to  them  to  be  some  fair  spirit  of 
a  better  world,  such  as  ancient  poets  have  described  haunt- 
ing clear  streams  and  mossy  caves,  and  the  deep  hollows  of 
the  emerald  woods,  by  such  names  as  sylphs,  dryades, 
and  the  like.  Woman  she  could  scarce  be  styled,  she 
looked  so  young,  and  yet  each  was  loath  she  should  be 
called  any  other  name,  believing  nothing  was  so  worthy 
of  love  and  reverence.  As  for  the  poor  foundling,  she 
was  in  some  confusion  to  be  so  gazed  upon  by  strangers; 
she  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  surprise  and  fear  she 
had  been  put  to  by  the  treachery  of  her  late  companion, and 
gazed  about  her,  the  prettiest  picture  of  amazement  that 
had  ever  been  witnessed.  Even  the  antiquarian  stared 
through  his  spectacles  at  her  as  earnestly  as  he  had  at 
the  aocieotest  ballad  that  had  fallen  into  his  hands;  and 
William  Shakspeare,  boy  as  he  was,  appeared  as  though 
there  was  a  power  to  her  admirable  beauty  he  felt  all 
through  his  nature,  yet  with  a  confused  sense  of  its  par- 
ticular meaning,  that  would  take  no  definite  interpreta- 
tion. It  is  here  only  necess  iry  to  add,  that  the  young 
and  graceful  creature  found  every  possible  attention  and 
respect  from  those  in  whose  company  she  had  so  fortun- 
ately fallen.  A  search  was  quickly  commenced  for  the 
knight  and  his  lady,  and  after  some  trouble,  taken  of  the 
young  knights  as  the  sweetest  pleasure  they  had  ever 
enjoyed,  she  was  restored  to  them,  but  not  without  such 
thanks  from  her.  as,  for  the  gentle  sweet  graciousness 
with  which  they  were  accompanied,  never  left  their 
memories  from  that  time  forward.  As  for  William 
Shakspeare,  he  returned  to  his  loving  parents,  surprising 
them  greatly  with  the  goodly  store  of  gifts,  he  would 
needs  pour  into  his  mother's  lap,  which  had  been  be- 
stowed on  him  by  his  friends  ;  but  putting  them  in  a 
still  greater  wonder  at  his  marvelous  relations  of  what 
strange  adventures  he  had  had,  and  famous  sights  he  had 
beheld,  since  he  had  been  away. 

VOL.     I.  17 


194  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


CHAPTER    XL 

His  browny  locks  did  hang  in  crooked  curls, 

And  every  light  occasion  of  the  wind 

Upon  his  lips  their  silken  parcels  hurls. 

His  qualities  were  beauteous  as  his  form, 

For  maiden-tongued  he  was  and  therefore  free. 

Shakspeare 

For  him  was  lever  han  at  his  beddes  bed 
A  twenty  bokes,  clothed  in  black  or  red, 
Of  Aristotle,  and  his  philosophic, 
Than  robes  riche,  or  fidel,  or  sautrie. 
v  Chaucer. 

Oh,  ye  gods, 
Give  me  a  worthy  patience  !     Have  I  stood 
Naked,  alone,  the  shock  of  many  fortunes  ! 
Have   I  seen  mischiefs  numberless  and  mighty 
Grow  like  a  sea  upon  me  ?     Have  I  taken 
Danger  as  stern  as  death  into  my  bosom, 
And  laughed  upon  it,  made  it  but  a  mirth, 
And  flung  it  by.     *     *     *     Do  I 
Bear  all  this  bravely,  and  must  sink  at  last 
Under  a  woman's  falsehood  ! 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  abide  these  new  Tangled  novelties, 
observed  Master  Peregrine,  who  with  the  others  of  the 
squire's  company,  with  William  Shakspeare  in  the  midst, 
appeared  to  be  examining  of  certain  shelves  of  books 
that  were  in  an  antique  oak  chamber  in  Sir  Marmaduke's 
mansion.  "  They  be  but  for  the  delighting  of  dainty 
ears,  and  such  whose  fantasies  are  only  to  be  tickled 
with  fine  filed  phrases.  1  like  not  the  boy  should  have 
such  poor  reading." 

"  I  assure  you  the  Mirrotir  for  Magistrates  is  in  excel- 
lent repute  of  all  men,"  said  Sir  Reginald.  "  It  is  a 
very  admirable  fine  poem,  or  series  of  legends,  relating 
the  falls  of  the  unfortunate  princes  of  this  land,  first  orig- 
inating with  my  Lord  Sackville,  and  now  carried  on  by 
divers  authors  of  reputation." 

tl  Nay,  I  have  here  one  that  he  will  more  approve  of," 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  195 

cried  Sir  Valentine,  as  he  held  a  volume  in  his  hand  that 
looked  quite  new.  "  It  is  called  the  Paradyseof  Dayn- 
ty  Devises,  aptly  furnished  with  sundry  pithie  and  learned 
inventions,  devised  and  written  for  the  most  part  by 
Master  Edwards,  sometime  of  her  majesties  chappel ; 
the  rest  by  sundry  learned  gentlemen  both  of  honor  and 
worshippe.  It  is  full  of  delectable  poems  I  promise  you, 
that  are  read  and  hugely  admired  by  all  persons  of  qual- 
ity." 

"  I  doubt  not,"  said  the  chaplain,  who  had  also  a 
book  in  his  hand.  "  But  methinks  I  have  something 
here  far  more  fitting,  of  the  ingenious  Master  Tuberville, 
being  no  other  than  The  heroicall  Epistles  of  the  learned 
poet  Publius  Ovidius  Naso,  with  Aulus  Sabinus'  answers 
tocertaineof  the  same,  a  very  famous  and  proper  classic." 

"  What  have  we  here?  "  cried  the  old  knight,  exam- 
ining a  volume  he  had  just  taken  off  the  shelf.  "  A 
hundreth  Good  Pointes  of  Husbandrie,  as  I  live,  and 
very  profitable  reading  doubtless." 

"Pish,  what  wants  he  with  books  of  such  a  sort?  " 
inquired  Master  Peregrine  impatiently,  as  he  regarded 
with  particular  satisfaction  a  huge  folio  from  the  same 
place.  "This  is  such  as  he  will  like  most.  O'  my 
word,  it  is  a  treasure  beyond  all  price.  This  great  rarity 
is  entituled,  A  book  of  the  noble  Hystoryes  of  Kynge 
Arthur,  and  of  certeyn  of  his  Knyghtes,"  and  is  from 
Caxton's  own  press,  and  bears  the  date  anno  14S5.  O 
what  a  jewel  ! — O  what  a  pearl  of  price!  In  good  fay 
I  can  scarce  take  my  eyes  oft'  such  an  inestimable  raro 
volume."  • 

William  Shakspeare  turned  his  intelligent  eyes  from 
one  to  another,  as  each  recommended  his  particular  book, 
almost  puzzled  which  of  these  goodly  volumes  he  should 
choose  first,  but  in  a  wonderful  impatience  to  be  at  one 
of  them. 

"  Methinks  after  all,  'twill  be  best  to  let  him  make 
his  own  choice,"  observed  Sir  Marmnduke.  "  What  say 
you,  young  sir,"  said  he  to  him.  "  Which  of  all  thest* 
books  think  you  the  properest  for  your  reading  ?  " 


196  THE    YOUTH    OF     SH  AKSPE  AllE. 

"An*  it  piease  your  worship,"  replied  William,  wilh 
much  simplicity,  "  1  must  needs  read  them  all  before  I 
can  say  which  is  best,  with  any  justice." 

"  E'en  do  so  then,"  if  it  'likes  you,"  exclaimed  the 
old  knight,  laughing  heartily  with  the  rest.  "There  are 
they — you  are  welcome  to  their  perusal  come  when  you 
will.  But  there  is  one  volume  1  would  have  you  take 
great  note  of,  and  that  is  called  The  Gentleman's  Acad- 
emie,  or  the  Booke  of  St.  Albans,  writ  By  one  Juliana 
Barnes,  containing  the  choicest  accounts  of  hawking, 
hunting,  armorie,  1  have  met  with  anywhere." 

"  Truly,  'tis  a  most  ravishing  work  ! "  said  Master 
Peregrine.  "A  notable  rare  specimen  of  the  types  of 
Wynkyn  de  Worde.  But  if  you  be  for  grave  reading, 
choose  you  The  Seven  Wise  Masters.  If  you  are  for 
mirth,  pitch  upon  The  Hundre  I  Merry  Tales — if  for  the 
reading  of  other  light  tales,  nought  will  so  well  serve 
your  turn  as  The  Palace  of  Pleasure.  Take  you  to  ro- 
mances, you  may  find  exquisite  diversion  in  Amadis  of 
Gaul,  Paimerin  of  England,  Huon  of  Bordeaux,  Sir  Be- 
vis  of  Southampton,  Sir  Guy  of  Warwick,  The  Seven 
Champions,  Valentyne  and  Orson,  The  Squire  of  Low 
Degree,  The  Knight  of  Couitesie,  and  the  Lady  Faguel, 
The  Castle  of  Ladies,  and  a  hundred  others  of  equal 
great  merit  ; — -but  if  you  are  for  ballads,  my  young  mas- 
ter, exquisite  choice  ballads  and  songs  of  old  time,  look 
you  out  for  the  Blind  Beggar  of  Bethnal  Green,  Queen 
Dido,  Fortune  my  Foe,  Pepper  is  Black,  Adam  Bell, 
Clym  of  the  Clough,  and  William  of  Cloudesly,  Robin 
Hood  and  the  Pindar  of  Wakefield,  and  others  out  of 
all  number  of  every  kind,  subject,  and  qui  'ity,  which  are 
here  ready  for  your  leading." 

"  All  such  are  well  enough  in  their  way,"  observed 
Sir  Johan.  "  But  if  he  take  to  reading  of  the  classics, 
all  other  reading  whatsoever  advanceth  him  not  a  whit 
in  his  education.  What  can  he  learn  of  ancient  history, 
save  out  of  Herodotus,  Thucydes,  Zenophon,  Titus  Liv- 
ius,  Tacitus,  and  Ca3sar;  where  in  philosophy  can  he 
have  such  guides   as    Aristotle,   Socrates,   Epicurus,  Eu- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  197 

clid  that  famous  master  of  figures;  Pliny,  that  curious 
observer  of  nature,  and  Celsus,  that  profound  expound- 
er of  surgicals.  In  poetry  what  is  like  unto  the  works 
of  Homer,  Pindar,  Anacreon,  Virgil,  Horace,  or  Ovid. 
And  in  eloquence  what  can  come  in  any  way  near  unto 
Demosthenes,  or  Cicero.  Truly  then  the  classics  should 
be  before  all  other  books,  for  the  study  of  any  young 
person,  and  so  it  will  be  found  in  all  colleges  and 
schools  throughout  Christendom." 

These  advocates  for  modern  and  ancient  learning, 
might  have  waxed  warm  in  their  dispute,  had  they  been 
allowed,  and  the  two  young  knights  also  took  part  in  it 
in  praise  of  chivalrous  tales,  Italian  sonnets,  and  French 
lays  and  romances  ;  but  Sir  Marmaduke  good  humored!/ 
put  an  end  to  the  argument  by  telling  them  the  dinner 
bell  was  a  rinsing,  which  caused  them  to  forget  their 
books  awhile,  and  look  to  their  appetites. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  William  Shakspeare  was 
bountifully  provided  for  in  all  manner  of  learning,  and  it 
may  well  be  believed  he  was  not  long  in  availing  him- 
self of  the  treasures  so  liberally  placed  at  his  disposal. 
All  spare  time  he  could  get  was  passed  in  the  old 
knight's  library,  where  he  kept  like  a  bird  in  a  granary. 
feeding  on  the  plenteous  store  in  a  most  gr.iteful  spirit, 
and  with  no  desire  to  move  from  such  excellent  neigh- 
borhood. But  he  was  rarely  left  alone  for  any  great  pe- 
riod, for  Sir  Marmaduke  and  his  friends  were  too  well 
pleased  with  his  quickness  of  apprehension  and  untiring 
industry,  not  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  assist  the  studies 
of  so  promising  a  scholar  :  therefore  he  was  sure  to  have 
with  either  the  old  knight  himself,  who  would  readily  go 
over  with  him  any  creditable  book  of  legends,or  ancient  cus- 
toms and  sports  ;  or  his  chaplain,  who  took  huge  pains 
he  should  not  be  indifferent  to  the  treasures  of  classic 
lore,  never  forgetting  by  the  by  to  put  in  on  an  occasion, 
some  most  moving  discourse  on  the  goodness  of  Provi- 
dence, and  explain  the  chief  points  of  all  moral  doctrine. 
Then  came  Master  Peregrine  ready  to  cuddle  him  with 
delight,  should  he  find  him  intent  upon  some  worn  eaten 

VOL.    I.  17* 


198  THE    YOUTH     OF     SHAKSPEAKE. 

black  letter  folio,  or  a  bundle  of  old  ballads,  and  be 
would  not  rest  till  he  had  made  his  pupil  familiar  with 
whatsoever  concerning  of  them  he  thought  worthy  of 
knowing — and  at  another  time  he  would  be  visited  by 
the  two  young  knights  with  whom  he  was  in  particular 
esteem,  and  they  were  ever  striving  to  possess  him  with 
the  notion  that  the  gallantcst  accomplishments  were  the 
most  worthy  of  study,  especially  of  the  Italian  tongue, 
and  that  nought  was  like  unto  the  sweetness  of  Petrarch, 
the  pleasantry  of  Boccacio,  or  the  grandeur  of  Dante, 
Tasso,  and  Ariosto. 

From  this  it  is  evident  on  the  face  of,  that  none  could 
have  a  fairer  schooling  that  our  young  scholar.  Indeed, 
he  now  gained  more  knowledge  in  a  day  than  he  could 
have  bad  of  that  pedantic,  poor  ignoramus,  his  school- 
master, all  his  life  ;  and  it  was  the  marvel  oi  ill  to  no- 
tice how  famously  he  got  on  in  his  learning.  Theie  ap- 
peared to  be  nothing  he  could  not  give  a  reason  for,  or 
description  of,(  for  he  took  infinite  trouble  by  asking  ques- 
tions of  all  sorts  of  people,  as  well  as  by  conning  of 
every  book  in  Sir  Marmaduke's  library,  to  remain  igno- 
rant of  as  little  as  possible.  Hour  after  hour  hath  he 
passed  at  a  time  over  some  pithy  book,  till  his  head 
would  ache  with  the  intentness  with  which  he  would  give 
his  mind  to  the  matter  of  it — then  away  he  went  like  a 
wild  buck  of  the  ibrest,  broke  loose  from  confinement, 
over  the  green  fields  and  through  the  nutty  woods,  hither 
and  thither  everywhere,  drinking  within  his  nostrils, 
choked  with  the  closeness  of  musty  volumes,  the  sweet 
pure  air  freshened  with  the  cool  breeze — and  at  his  ach- 
ing eyes,  tired  of  the  sameness  of  so  much  paper  and 
print,  taking  in  with  as  greedy  a  draught  the  pleasant 
greenness  of  the  teeming  soil,  and  the  delicate  soft  blue 
of  the  expanding  heavens. 

Some  how  or  another  it  happened,  that  he  often  found 
himself  thinking  of  the  beautiful  fair  creature  he  had 
seen  rescued  by  his  friends  from  the  hands  of  villains, 
when  he  was  enjoying  the  princely  pleasures  of  Kenil- 
worth.     In  his  solitary  musings,  whereof  after  any  deep 


THE     YOUTH     OF     SUAKSPEARE.  199 

study,  he  had  of  late  taken  to,  her  radiant  features  would 
suddenly  glide  into  his  youthful  mind,  like  as  a  sudden 
burst  of  sunshine  pierceth  the  leafy  branches  of  a  young 
tree  ;  and  all  his  t.  ghts  took  a  character  of  such 
brightness  on  the  instant,  as  showed  there  was  some  pow- 
er of  brilliancy  in  her  image  that  made  resplendent  its 
whole  neighborhood.  This  to  him  was  both  new  and 
strange.  The  forms  of  beauty  of  which  he  had  had  ex- 
perience, and  they  were  by  no  means  few,  had  given  him 
delight — but  here  was  something  presented  to  him  of  a 
totally  different  character — of  a  most  singular  admirable 
loveliness;  and  the  pleasure  he  derived  from  its  observa- 
tion he  felt  to  be  of  a  far  more  exquisite  sort  than  he  ha.6 
known  heretofore.  The  varied  dies  of  the  defieatest 
flowers  peeping  from  their  vernal  coverts — the  tail  mon- 
archy of  the  forests,  bending  their  haughty  heads  to  the 
rude  wind — the  soft  mingling  of  field  and  wood,  hill, 
stream  and  valley,  bathed  in  their  mellow  tints,  that 
made  up  the  ravishing  fair  landscape — the  glorious  show 
of  unsurpassed  magnificence,  vjsible  at  the  sun's  rising 
and  going  down,  which  clothed  the  skies,  like  an  orien- 
tal conqueror,  in  a  garment  of  'purple  and  gold,  am! 
more  graceful  splendor  of  the  quiet  night,  when  earth's 
unrivalled  roof  seems  as  though  carved  all  about  with 
the  likeness  of  a  goodly  almond  tree,  as  'tis  seen  at  eve, 
with  its  verdure  deepening  nto  a  dark  blue,  spread  over 
in  every  part  with  myriads  of  silvery  blossoms — he  could 
enjoy  with  such  huge  zest  as  hearts  attuned  to  sympathy 
with  the  beautiful  can  alone  have  knowledge  oi':  but  ra 
the  outward  line...  this  novel    sign    of    the    pres- 

ence of  nature's  unrivalled  handiwork,  there  appeared 
such  moving  graces,  that  plainly  showed  the  masterpiece 
confessed  ;  and  he  had  some  glimpses,  in  the  delicious 
raptures  which  an  increasing  familiarity  with  his  mental 
perception  of  the  beautiful  promised  him,  of  that  mar- 
velous deep  meaning  which  lieth  most  manifestly  in  the 
choicest  and  peil'cetest  shape  in  which  our  bountiful 
mother  hath  given  it  a  dwelling. 

Let  none  feel  incredulous   of  what  is  here   put   down. 


200  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEAKE. 

Though  still  in  years  apparent,  but  of  an  unripe  boyhood, 
the  child  had  in  him  the  greatness  of  the  man  in  embryo. 
Take  you  the  bud,  examine  it  narrowly,  you  shall  find  in 
it  a  minature-tree,  perfect  in  all  its  parts  ;  or  the  bean — 
as  its  sides  have  opened  to  show  some  promise  of  what 
it  will  be — and  behold  all  the  characters  of  the  plant  mi- 
nutely visible  to  your  close  inspection  !  Nature  never  va- 
ryeth  from  her  first  original  type.  In  all  things  that 
promise  a  profitable  increase,  the  power  is  folded  up  in 
the  germ,  where,  despite  of  disadvantages,  it  will  gradu- 
ally unfold  itself,  till  the  character  she  hath  put  forth 
upon  it  is  perfectly  developed  to  all  men's  eyes.  Could 
we  look  into  the  immaturity  of  any  of  those  great  ones, 
whose  mental  fruits  have  been  the  nourishing  diet  of 
every  age  that  hath  passed  since  they  flourished,  be  sure 
that  we  should  find  at  such  early  period,  the  very  ap- 
pearances and  manifestations  of  their  after  perfection,  as 
are  here  imperfectly  described  concerning  of  William 
Shakspeare.  As  for  beauty,  it  is  the  very  sunshine  of 
the  soul,  without  which  shall  the  seed  of  greatness  lie 
dormant  as  in  a  perpetual  frost ;  but  directly  it  beginneth 
to  make  itself  felt,  out  come  stem,  root,  and  leaflet,  with 
such  goodly  vigor,  that  in  a  presently  the  brave  plant 
putteth  out  its  branches  so  lovingly,  nought  can  resist  its 
progress;  and  lo  !  in  a  little  while,  what  numberless  rare 
blossoms  appear,  manifesting  in  themselves  the  quality 
by  which  they  were  created. 

But  our  young  scholar  was  not  the  only  one  on  whom 
the  attractions  of  the  gentle  Mabel  had  made  a  powerful 
impression.  Sir  Valentine,  and  his  friend,  oft  spoke  of 
her  to  each  other  with  exceeding  admiration,  to  which  if 
in  his  company,  the  boy  would  listen  with  a  flushed 
cheek  and  a  throbbing  heart,  seeming  to  be  poring  over 
his  book, — but  this  he  had  as  clean  lost  sight  of  for  the 
nonce  as  if  it  and  he  were  a  hundred  miles  apart. 

"  She  is,  indeed,  a  delectable  creature  !"  exclaimed 
Sir  Valentine,  as  they  three  were  together  in  the  library. 
"  She  seemed  a  being  just  stepped  out  of  some  French 
romance,  one  of  the   virtues    perchance,  or  better,  some 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPE  AR.E.  201 

incomparable  damsel,  possessed  of  them  all  rn  her  own 
fair  person,  who  was  about  falling  into  the  hands  of  a 
powerful  ogre,  or  other  monstrous  villain  that  is  si  foe  to 
chastity,  when  we  two  knights  going  about  to  redress 
wrong  and  defend  oppressed  innocence,  each  r  the 
honor  of  chivalry  and  his  liege  lady,  stepped  up  to  her 
rescue,  and  by  the  help  of  our  valor;  quickly  delivered 
her  from  her   enemies." 

■•  A  most  moving  picture,"  cried  Sir  Reginald  laugh- 
ingly ;   "  I  would  give  something  to  see  it  done  in  tapes- 

"  O'  my  word,  'twould  be  a  fine  subject,'  said  his 
friend,  with  some  earnestness;  "  I  doubt  not,  too,  of  es- 
pecial profit  to  the  gazer;  and  I  would  have  it  worked 
m  this  sort.  There  should  be  yourself,  and  I.  your  ap- 
proved friend  and  companion  in  arms,  giving  two  of  the 
villains  furious  battle  ;  and  in  a  little  way  oil"  our  brave 
kinsman — another  famous  pillar  of  knighthood — shall  bo 
putting  to  flight  thither  two  rascals  away  from  their  ex- 
pected victim,  who  shall  be  lying  prostrate  under  a  tree, 
where  she  hath  been  left,  in  a  very  moving  tribulation. 
A  little  way  from  ihts  we  will  have  a  second  picture, 
with  the  villains  making  oil  in  the  distance — the  lady 
now  in  a  pretty  fright  and  bewilderment,  looking  about 
her  with  Master  Chaplain,  Master  Antiquarian,  and  our 
young  scholar,  as  country  persons  natural  of  those  parts, 
gazing    at  ilh    exceeding   curiousness,    whilst   her 

three  valiant  champions  shall  sjand,  leaning  on  their 
weapon.;,  as  though  they  were  amazed  at  beholding  such 
heavenly  grace  in  so  pagan  a  place." 

"  Never  heard  I  so  brave  a  limner  !"  exclaimed  the 
other  in  the  like  pleasant  humor  ;  "  Why  thou  wouldst 
beat  the  cutiniogest  master  of  the  art  out  of  the  held. 
O'  my  life,  in  thy  hand  the  painted  cloth  would  be  more 
moving  than  history  ;  and  we  should  speedily  have  all 
lovers  of  true  valor,  instead  of  seeking  the  enemy's  en- 
campment, studying  lessons  of  knighthood  from  thy 
arras." 

"  Well  I  should  be  right  glad  to   know  what  hath  be- 


202 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SH  AKSPE  ARE. 


come  of  her,''  said  Sir  Valentine.  "  I  like  not  parting 
so  quickly  with  so  rare  an  acquaintance,  I  promise  you. 
Nevertheless  methinks  'tis  marvelous  such  a  strange  per- 
son as  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  should  have  so  exquisite  a 
daughter.  Had  he  been  in  any  way  civil  I  would  have 
bestowed  some  pains  to  please  him,  shriveled  pippin  as 
he  looks  to  be  ;  but  he  spoke  so  sharply  to  the  gentle 
creature,  and  looked  at  us  with  so  crabbed  an  expression, 
that  1  was  in  haste  to  be  quit  of  his  company  ;  therefore 
I  have  been  in  perfect  ignorance  up  to  this  date  where 
she  is  to  be  found." 

•*  I  have  at  least  discovered  the  old  fellow's  resi- 
dence," said  Sir  Reginald. 

"  Ha,  indeed  1"  cried  Sir  Valentine  in  a  -famous  exul- 
tation. "  Perdie,  that  is  excellent  news.  Where  doth 
the  pagan  place  so  fair  a  jewel  ?  Tell  me,  I  prithee, 
for  1  would  impawn  my  heart  to  get  but  another  sight  of 
her," 

"  Marry,  but  I  think  'tis  impawned  already,  good 
cousin  observed  his  friend  with  an  arch  smile.  "  Thou 
seemest  so  monstrous  eager  on  the  matter  ;  but  not  to 
baulk  thy  exceeding  curiousness,  for  my  humor  jumps 
with  it,  believe  me, — know  that  this  peerless  damsel  hath 
her  bower  at  Charlcote,  where  the  knight  of  despite,  her 
father,  holdeth  his  court." 

"  To  horse,  for  Charlcote  ho  !"  exclaimed  his  young 
companion,  rising  from  his  seat  in  a  merry  manner,  as  if 
impatient  to  be  gone.    % 

"  But  let  me  advise  thee  of  sufficient  caution,"  said 
his  kinsman,  with  an  admirable  mock  gravity  ;  great  dan- 
gers beset  thy  path.  Ogres,  giants,  basilisks,  and  drag- 
ons await  thee  on  every  side.  Horror  will  cross  thy 
steps  ;  despair  dog  thy  heels  ;  revenge  cometh  on  thy 
right  hand,  and  cruelty  on  thy  left.  By  my  valor,  sir 
knight,  methinks  thou  badst  best  refrain  from  so  perilous 
an  adventure." 

"  Amor  vincit  omnia  !"  replied  the  other  after  the 
same  pleasant  fashion;  and  thus  jesting  and  bantering, 
the  two  friends  a  few  minutes  after,  left  our  young  schol- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  203 

ar — who  had  drunk  in  every  word  of  their  discourse 
to  pursue  his  studies  in  solitude.  Little  more  of  the 
book  before  him  attempted  he  acquaintance  with  for 
some  time  before  and  long  after  their  leaving  him.  He 
thought,  and  the  more  he  thought  the  more  thoughtful  he 
grew  ;  but  his  thoughts  were  as  gossamer  webs  hovering 
over  a  field,  that  catch  nought  but  other  webs  of  a  like 
sort  ;  they  appeared  moreover  to  have  no  purport  ;  they 
went  in  no  direct  path  ;  but  proceeded  over  and  across, 
around  and  about,  always  returning  to  the  starting  point, 
— and  what  should  that  be  but  the  same  fair  creature  he 
had  seen  at  Kenil worth,  that  the  gay  knights  had  talked 
of  in  such  delicate  terms. 

In  the  meanwhile,  at  all  proper  intervals,  he  assisted 
his  father  as  far  as  in  him  lay  ;  at  other  times  running 
of  errands  with  an  alacrity  and  cheerfulness  none  could 
help  admiring.  John  Shakspeare  strove  all  that  honest 
man  could  to  keep  his  family  in  comfort.  He  would 
seek  to  do  a  little  in  his  old  trade  of  wool,  and  also 
Bomething  as  a  glover;  but  though  thrift  and  diligence 
were  twin  companions  with  him  at  all  times,  the  expen- 
ses of  a  family  would  often  run  him  down  at  heel. 
Perchance,  however  desirous  he  might  be  to  pay  as  he 
went,  and  no  man  more  so,  it  might  happen  when  the 
baker  called  there  was  no  money.  Mortgaging  a  small 
property  brought  him  by  his  wife  carried  him  on  a  little  ; 
but  this  could  not  last  forever,  do  what  he  would  ;  and  it 
became  no  uncommon  thing  when  he  was  ready  for  his 
dinner,  to  have  no  dinner  ready  for  him.  His  neighbors 
were  ever  ready  to  lend  him  a  helping  hand  ;  but  hav- 
ing experienced  their  friendly  feeling  in  some  measure, 
he  liked  not  letting  them  know  he  required  it  again,  fear- 
ing to  exhaust  their  goodness.  All  that  our  young  schol- 
ar gained  by  friendly  gifts  was  presented  to  his  parents 
as  speedily  as  he  could  :  and  be  sure  he  felt  more  ex- 
quisite gratification  in  so  bestowing  it,  than  he  experi- 
enced in  any  other  thing  whatsoever  ;  but  it  sometimes 
happened  when  he  was  at  Sir  Marmaduke's,  or  other 
bountiful  friends,  before  a  goodly  meal,  the    thought  that 


201  THE    YOUTH     OF     Sli  AKS  P  EAIiE. 

his  loving  parents  had  at  that  time  nothing  of  the  sort  to 
put  before  them,  would  so  move  him  he  could  not  touch 
a  morsel  of  anything,  however  tempting  it  might  be. 
And  as  for  his  good  mother  and  father,  they  cared  more 
their  son  should  keep  a  decent  appearance,  so  thai  lie 
might  do  no  discredit  to  his  company,  than  they  heeded 
their  own  comforts. 

Methinks  there  cannot  be  in  nature  so  truly  pitiful,  and 
yet  a  sight  so  noble  withal,  as  an  honest  man  struggling 
with  adversity.  Note  how  he  labors  to  bear  up  his  heart 
against  the  crushing  weight  of  his  stern  necessities.  See 
his  nature — a  proud  nature,  perchance,  for  their  is  no 
pride  like  that  of  honesty — reduced  to  the  mean  resorts 
of  poverty's  most  absolute  rule.'  Behold  the  fallacious 
smile  and  abortive  cheerfulness  under  which  he  would 
strive  to  hide  the  iron  entering  his  soul  !  Want  winds 
her  serpent  folds  around  him,  and  eats  into  his  vitals  ; 
Ruin  hovers  over  him  on  vulture's  wmgs  to  seize  him  for 
her  prey  ;  Disgrace  points  at  him  ;  Shame  follows  on  his 
steps  :mnd  Fear  seeks  to  disturb  the  pleasant  shelter  of 
his  dreams  ;  but  the  honest  man  hob's  up  his  head  like 
a  flag  upon  a  wreck  ;  and,  when  that  rude  villain  Death 
would  take  the  wall  of  him,  doffs  his  beaver  with  a  nat- 
ural dignity  mere  gallantry  can  show  no  example  of. 

Such  it  was  with.  John  Shakspcare.  He  did  his  best, 
but  his  best  failed.  He  put  forth  all  his  strength,  but  all 
his  strength  was  insufficient.  The  brand  of  poverty  ap- 
peared to  have  marked  him  for  her  own  ;  but  worse  than 
that  to  him,  he  saw  his  wife  pining,  and  his  children 
wanting  nourishment.  In  such  a  state  of  things  it  might 
have  been  thought  that  he  would  have  made  application 
to  some  of  the  persons  of  worship  in  his  neighborhood, 
whose  characters  were  a  guarantee  it  would  not  have 
been  made  in  vain  ;  but  worthy  persons  when  they  fall 
to  ihose  poor  shifts  as  render  such  an  act  necessary,  are 
found  monstrous  loath  to  trouble  the  rich  and  powerful 
with  their  necessities.  Sir  Marmaduke  doubtless  would 
have  very  readily  done  him  such  service  ;  but.  he  had  no 
intimation  his  assistance  was  required  ;  Will, am  Shaks- 
pcare always  making  such  an    appearance,  by  means  al- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  205 

ready  spoken  of,  which  prevented  him  from  entertaining 
any  suspicions  his  father  was  in  any  other  but  comforta- 
ble circumstances  ;  and  the  poor  glover,  however  mean- 
ly off  he  might  be,  could  never  bring  himself  to  hazard 
his  son's  prospects  with  so  great  a  friend  by  importuning 
of  the  latter  with  his  own  hapless  condition. 

At  last,  after  a  protracted  struggle  with  himself  on  the 
matter,  and  things  getting  to  wear  a  more  serious  aspect, 
he  made  up  his  mind  he  would  venture  to  move  his  old 
friend  John  a  Combe.  Strange  rumors  had  been  afloat 
for  some  time  concerning  of  this  good  gentleman.  On  a 
sudden  he  had  been  missed  from  Stratford,  and  after  some 
years  stay,  had  again  returned — but  oh,  how  altered  a 
man  !  Those  who  saw  him  scarce  knew  him,  and  those 
whom  he  saw  he  seemed  determined  he  would  not  know. 
It  was  said  there  were  such  marked  lines  in  his  pallid 
countenance,  as  though  a  thousand  cares  had  ploughed 
their  furrows  in  the  flesh,  and  that  when  he  walked 
abroad,  which  was  something  rare  in  him,  he  would  min- 
gle with  none,  greet  none,  be  known  of  none — but  move 
slowly  along,  with  his  body  bent,  and  his  eyes  fixed  sul- 
lenly on  the  ground,  sometimes  moving  of  his  lips — 
though  what  fell  from  them  none  could  say.  It  was 
also  reported  that  he  had  become  an  usurer — lending  of 
his  money  at  exorbitant  charges,  and  being  exceeding 
strict  in  forcing  the  payment.  Not  a  word  of  this  would 
John  Shakspeare  believe.  What,  that  noble  heart  be- 
come a  selfish  solitary,  he  had  known  of  so  social  a  spir- 
it— or  that  generous  nature  debase  itself  with  avarice, 
he  had  seen  risking  the  horriblest  death  out  of  pure  phi- 
lanthropy !  It  was  clean  impossible.  They  must  most 
grossly  belie  him  who  reported  of  him  any  such  mean- 
ness. So  thought  the  poor  glover  of  his  old  acquaint- 
ance, and  with  these  thoughts  he  one  morning  took  his 
staff*  in  his  hand  and  proceeded  to  his  dwelling. 

At  his  first  entrance  at  the  gate  John  Shakspeare  saw 
there  was  at  least  a  notable  change  in  the  house  once  so 
familiar  to  him.  Everything  around  and  about  it  looked 
strange   and   desolate,  and  as   opposite   to  the   state   in 

vol.  i.  18 


206  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

which  it  used  to  be  kept,  as  any  two  things  could  chance 
to  be.  The  fair  garden  that  once  was  the  pride  of  the 
place  for  its  order  and  trimness,  appeared  now  a  mere 
heap  of  weeds,  straggling  bushes,  and  withered  plants. 
The  goodly  trees  that  were  wont  to  be  so  well  trailed 
against  the  wall,  had  broke  from  their  bindings,  and  lay 
with  their  straggling  branches  almost  leafless,  with  the 
unchecked  ravages  of  vermin  and  neglect.  The  dwell- 
ing seemed  no  less  wretched.  A  broken  casement,  and  a 
porch  dirty  and  crumbling  with  decay,  spoke  how  little 
outward  appearances  were  now  cared  for  by  the  possess- 
or. John  Shakspeare  shook  his  head  at  noting  of  these 
things.  It  then  occurred  to  him  that  some  fearful 
change  must  have  taken  place  in  John  a  Combe,  else 
John  a  Combe's  dwelling  could  never  have  come  to  so 
pitiful  a  condition. 

The  door  was  cautiously  opened  by  a  sour  looking 
slovenly  old  dame,  instead  of  a  neat  pretty  handmaid, 
and  active  young  serving  man,  that  had  used  to  have 
been  so  ready  to  show  a  visitor  all  proper  courtesy,  and 
after  sharply  interrogating  him  on  his  business,  she  led 
him  through  the  hall — where  everything  spoke  a  similar 
story  of  indifferency  to  all  comfort  and  cleanliness,  as 
did  the  ruined  garden  and  delapidated  porch — into  a  small 
back  chamber  choking  with  dust.  Here  before  a  heap 
of  many  papers  and  parchments,  sat  his  worthy  and  es- 
teemed friend  Master  Combe.  John  Shakspeare  looked 
with  greater  intentness  ere  he  would  believe  his  own 
eyes.  He  saw  before  him  a  man  he  knew  to  be  in  the 
pride  of  manhood,  with  all  the  externals  of  decrepid 
age.  The  grey  hair,  the  blanched  cheek,  and  the  sunk- 
en eye,  could  not  be  mistaken  ;  but  besides  these  unwel- 
come signs,  there  was  in  his  aspect  a  mingled  expres- 
sion of  agony  and  distrust,  that  was  more  moving  than 
all.  John  Shakspeare's  honest  heart  sunk  within  him,  as 
he  beheld  this  painful  spectacle  which  exhibited  the 
more  wretchedness,  by  the  mean  habiliments  in  which  it 
appeared, — for  he  who  had  used  to  dress  in  so  becoming 
a  fashion,  he  was   admired  of    all,   was   now  attired   in 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  207 

coarse  clothes  and  uncleanly   linen,   unworthy  of  a  per- 
son even  of  the  lowest  quality. 

Master  Combe  stared  at  his  old  friend  without  the 
slightest  sign  of  cordiality,  or  even  of  recognition  ;  and 
seemed  as  though  he  would  have  him  say  his  errand  with- 
out delay  ;  whereupon  his  visitor  though  more  distressed 
at  such  a  moment  at  the  condition  of  one  he  had  known 
to  be  so  good  a  man,  than  his  own,  presently  gave  an  un- 
varnished tale  of  his  losses  and  sufferings,  and  the  stern 
necessity  which  had  compelled  him  to  ask  a  loan  to  af- 
ford him  some  present  help.  Master  Combe  sat  the  tale 
out  with  a  stone-like  indifference. 

"  What  security  hast  got  ?"  said  he  at  last,  rather 
sharply. 

"None,"  replied  his  visitor,  much  pained  at  hearing  of 
so  unexpected  a  question. 

"  What,  come  to  me  seeking  of  money  without  se- 
curity !"  exclaimed  Master  Combe,  as  if  in  a  monstrous 
surprise.  Dost  not  know  I  am  an  usurer,  and  dost  not 
know  usurers  lend  not,  save  on  sure  grounds  and  profita- 
ble terms  ?  I  must  have  ten  in  the  hundred,  and  I  must 
have  something  to  hold  upon  of  such  value  as  will  en- 
sure the  safety  of  the  loan." 

"  Alack,  I  have  it  not,"  answered  John  Shakspeare, 
marveling  the  generous  nature  of  his  old  companion 
should  have  taken  so  ill  a  turn.  "  I  expected  not  you 
were  so  changed,  else  I  would  not  have  troubled  you."" 

"  Changed  !"  cried  the  other  with  a  bitter  emphasis. 
"  Marry,  yes,  and  a  goodly  change  it  must  needs 
What,  wouldst  suppose  I  would  remain  all  my  days  the 
generous  confiding  fool  I  have  once  been  ?  Have  I  not 
given  without  stint — have  I  not  endured  without  flinch- 
ing for  the  good  of  my  fellows,  and  none  ends  el 
Lived  I  not  in  the  strong  belief  of  the  excellence  of  hu- 
manity, and  sought  all  means  to  show  I  was  myself  a 
parcel  of  the  whole  ?  What  good  thing  have  I  left  un- 
done that  was  in  my  power.  Where  have  I  faded  in  the 
exercise  of  an  impartial  benevolence?  When  gave  I 
not  every  one  his  due,  or  kept  myself  back  when  one 
unjustly  used  required  a  defender  ?" 


208  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

"  Never,  as  I  gladly  testify,''  exclaimed  his  compan- 
ion. 

"  And  what  hath  been  my  profit  ?"  inquired  Master 
Combe,  still  more  bitterly,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat  in  an 
increasing  excitement ;  "hopes  blighted,  health  ruined, 
and  happiness  destroyed  !  Look  on  me — see  you  one 
particle  of  what  I  was  !  Yet  is  the  change  without,  in 
no  comparison  with  that  which  is  within.  My  whole 
nature  is  blasted,  riven  and  torn  up  by  the  roots.  Not 
a  green  leaf  shall  you  find  on  it,  search  where  you  will. 
Not  a  sign  of  any  goodness  whatsoever.  An  earthquake 
hath  trampled  on  me — a  pestilence  hath  eaten  up  all  the 
pure  essence  of  my  being — what  is  human  of  me  is  sti- 
fled, poisoned,  crushed,  and  cast  out  of  all  likeness  with 
humanity.  I  am  a  moving  desolation — a  living  desert — 
a  well  that  the  scorching  air  hath  left  dry  as  a  stone." 

John  Shakspeare  looked  on  and  listened,  quite  forget- 
ful of  his  own  wretchedness. 

u  See  you  that  spider  in  the  crack  ?"  inquired  Mas- 
ter Combe,  suddenly  taking  the  other  by  the  arm. 

u  Ay,  I  see  it  plain,"  replied  he,  looking  narrowly  to 
the  spot  pointed  out. 

"  He  is  spinning  his  web  in  the  ruin  around  him,"  con- 
tinued his  companion,  as  if  in  some  sort  of  exultation. 
"  He  means  to  make  prey  of  all  he  can.  John  Shaks- 
peare, I  am  intent  upon  a  like  thing,"  added  he,  sinking 
his  voice  to  a  mere  whisper.  "Take  heed  of  yourself, 
else  you  will  find  yourself  in  my  snare.  To  the  door 
with  what  speed  you  have." 

John  Shakspeare,  so  moved  he  scarce  knew  what  he 
was  about,  took  up  his  cap  ;  but,  finding  it  feel  unusually 
heavy,  looked  in  it  with  some  narrowness,  and  there,  to 
his  great  surprise,  saw  a  purse  of  money. 

"  How  came  this  here?"  exclaimed  he,  taking  it  in 
his  hand.  "  As  I  live,  there  was  nought  of  the  kind  in 
my  cap  a  moment  since,  when  I  laid  it  down." 

"  How  should  I  know,  i'faith  ?"  cried  Master  Combe, 
sharply. 

"  It  must  needs  belong  to  you,  worthy   sir,  for  it   can- 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  209 

not  be  mine,"   said  his  companion,   seeking   to  give  him 
the  purse. 

"  Marry,  what  new  folly  is  this  I"  exclaimed  the 
other,  putting  it  away.  "  Dost  think  I  would  give  thee 
such  ?  Doth  usurers  part  with  their  money  after  such 
fashion  ?  Fanciest  I  would  allow  of  thy  spreading  the 
rare  intelligence  amongst  thy  acquaintance,  that  John  a 
Combe  is  as  monstrous  a  fool  as  ever  he  was,  and  liketh 
nought  so  well  as  helping  some  one  in  his  need  ?  Go 
get  thee  gone,  John  Shakspeare,"  added  he,  pushing  his 
companion  to  the  door,  "  thou  art  honest,  and  must  needs 
be  a  fool — thou  hast  no  lack  of  virtue,  therefore  cannot 
escape  being  taken  for  a  knave  ;"  and  in  the  next  mo- 
ment the  door  was  closed  upon  him. 

VOL.  I.  18* 


2\0  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Ovet  my  altars  hath  he  hung  his  lance, 
His  battered  shield,  his  uncontrolled  crest, 

And  for  my  sake  hath  learned  to  sport  and  dance, 
To  coy,  to  wanton,  dally,  smile,  and  jest. 

Bhaespsabk. 

Take  heed,  sweet  nymph,  try  not  thy  shaft, 

BftCh  little  touch  will  pierce  a  heart  ; 
Alas  !   thou  know'st  not  Cupid's  craft, 

Revenge  is  joy,  the  end  is  smart. 

Davison. 

But  what  on  earth  can  long  abide  in  state  ? 

Or  who  can  him  assure  of  happy  day  ? 

Sith  morning  fair  may  bring  foul  evening  late, 

And  least  mishap  the  most  blessed  alter  may  ? 

For  thousand  perils  lie  in  close  await, 

About  us  daily  to  work  our  decay, 

That  none  except  a  god,  or  God  him  guide, 

May  them  avoid  or  remedy  provide. 

Sl'K.NSER. 

"  I  think  it  exceeding  improper  of  thee,  Mabel  !"  ex- 
claimed Dame  Lucy,  with  a  countenance  of-  more  than 
ordinary  gravity,  whilst  she  walked  in  the  grounds  ap- 
pertaining to  her  husband's  mansion  at  Charlcote,  in  all 
her  pride  of  farthingale  and  headtire. 

"  What  else  could  I  do,  I  pray  you,  dear  mistress  ?  " 
said  the  fair  creature  in  a  deprecating  tone,  following  of 
her  closely.  "  These  good  gentlemen  would  needs  speak 
with  me,  and  surely  there  was  no  offence  in  their 
speech." 

"  O,  monstrous  offence !  beyond  all  doubting,"  re- 
plied  the  dame.  "Thou  canst  have  no  conception, 
child,  what  offence  may  be  in  speech  without  it  being 
visible.  There  are  meaning  in  words  that  arc  horrible 
to  think  of,  albeit  they  appear  of  ever  such  innocency." 

"  I  took  it  but  as  a  mere  greeting,"  added  her  com- 
panion, in  some  surprise  at  what  had  fallen  from  the  oth- 
er.     u  They  were  infinitely  kind  in    their  inquiries  ;  and 


THE    YOUTH    OF     5HAKSPEABE.  £ll 

50  courteous  withal,  it  is  hard  to  believe  anything  uncivil 
of  them. 

"Trust  uot  to  such  kind  d  her  mistress  5:  me- 

what  oracularly,  ll  7tis  a  poor  stale  to  catch  wood- 
cocks. I  marvel  what  such  fine  fellows  should  want  of 
so  poor  a  person  !     No  good,   by   ray   :  Doubtless, 

would  th:  j  fill  thee  with  foolish  fantasies  improp- 

er for  thy  humble  station,  and  so  turn  it  to  their  advan- 
tages. But  raethinks  I  have  given  them  a  right  proper 
reception.  I  showed  them  such  dignity  of  behavior  as 
proved  how  little  I  thought  of  them  and  their  fine  words. 
They  will  not  come  here  again,  I'll  warrant.*' 

Dost  not  think,  dear  mistress,  'twas  marvelous  good 
of  them  to  rescue  me  from  the  hands  of  those  rude  per- 
sons who  were  for  taking  me  away,  I  know  not  where, 
whilst  we  were  at  Kenilworti 

Nay,  o'  my  life,  I  know  not,7*  replied  the  dame.  1 
cannot  speak  of  that  of  which  I  have  no  certain  knowl- 
edge. Perchance,  if  the  truth  should  be  come  at,  more 
mischief  would  be  found  in  those  who  stayed  thee,  than 
in  those  who  were  for  carrying  thee  off.  I  liked  not 
their  looks.  They  have  a  horrible  suspicious  appear- 
ance with  the 

•  I  saw  it  not,  believe  me/'  said  her  young  compan- 
ion. "  Indeed  they  did  appear  to  me  the  noblest,  kind- 
est, honorabiest  young  gentlemen,  it  hath  ever  been  my 
good  hap  to  mee 

"Tilly   rally,    stuff   o'nons:  iclaimed 

Dame    L  ;3me     sharpn^r.  how 

shouldst  know  aught  concerning  of  honorable  young  gen- 
tlemen ;  and  what  dost  want  with  such  ?  Prithee  hold 
thy  silly  prate.  Thou  wilt  have  enough  to  do  to  get 
thy  bread  with  an  honest  name,  without  troubling  thy- 
self with  any  such  improper  matters.  Honorable  young 
gentlemen,  forsooth  !  The  world  must  be  clean  topsy 
turvy  when  persons  of  thy  quality  take  to  such  notions." 

The  poor  foundling  was  silenced,  and  the  two  contin- 
ued their  walk  without  ever  a  word  more  :  yet  though 
ber  tongue    was  at    rest,    her  thou  = 


21*2  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

Obedient  as  she  was,  and  yielding  as  was  her  nature, 
nothing  of  what  her  companion  had  said,  had  convinced 
her,  the  handsome  gallants  who  had  so  bravely  rescued 
her  from  she  knew  not  what  peril,  and  that,  after  so  long 
a  time — hearing  where  she  lived,  had  gone  on  purpose 
to  inquire  how  she  had  fared  after  her  great  alarm — had 
treated  her  with  such  extreme  courteousness,  were  any- 
thing but  truly  noble  gentlemen,  who  meant  her  well. 
Doubtless  it  was  something  new  to  her  to  be  treated 
with  delicate  respect  by  persons  of  quality,  as  they  ap- 
peared ;  for  she  was  only  regarded  as  a  servant,  and  on- 
ly associated  with  such,  save  at  those  times  she  was  at- 
tending of  her  mistress  ;  therefore  the  impression  they 
made  upon  her  might  have  been  the  more  powerful  than 
could  have  been  produced  under  ordinary  circumstances. 
Women  in  general,  and  especially  of  the  younger  sort, 
who  have  been  used  to  be  meanly  thought  of,  are  won- 
derfully grateful  for  any  slight  courtesy  from  a  superior, 
and  are  ready  to  give  all  their  hearts  for  such  attentions, 
should  they  believe  them  to  be  sincere  ;  and  Mabel, 
whose  gentle  nature  was  overflowing  with  gratitude  at 
any  kindness,  took,  at  the  most  liberal  appreciation,  the 
attentions  of  the  two  young  knights. 

Certes  Mabel  continued  to  think  very  kindly  of  Sir 
Valentine  and  his  friend,  and  was  famously  glad  she  had 
met  with  them  again  ;  for  ever  since  she  had  first  formed 
their  acquaintance,  she  had  wished  she  might  see  them 
once  more,  and  now  she  had  a  second  time  beheld  them, 
she  hoped  it  might  chance  they  would  again  meet.  She 
thought  not  one  whit  more  of  one  than  of  the  other  ; 
she  felt  she  should  desire  to  be  well  esteemed  of  both. 
In  accordance  with  such  feelings,  whenever  she  could 
get  away  from  the  old  dame  for  a  walk  by  herself,  she 
would  direct  her  steps  towards  the  spot  where  she  had 
last  met  her  brave  deliverers.  Mayhap  it  was  chance 
which  led  her  that  way  ;  but  as  it  occurred  every  time 
she  was  for  a  stroll  in  the  park,  methinks  it  was  of  that 
order  of  chances  which  savor  marvelously  of  design. 
But  it  so   happened   these  walks  of  her's  ended   as  they 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  213 

commenced.  She  met  not  those  whose  company  she 
desired,  and  she  began  to  think  such  great  pleasure  could 
never  be  hers  again. 

Some  months  after  the  interview  to  which  allusion  hath 
just  been  made,  she  was  returning  homewards  from  her 
ordinary  ramble,  somewhat  out  of  heart  at  her  many  dis- 
appointments, when,  to  her  wonderful  great  exultation, 
she  suddenly  espied  Sir  Valentine  wending  his  way  to- 
wards her  through  the  trees.  The  young  knight  made 
his  greeting  with  all  the  courtesy  of  a  true  soldier,  gazing 
with  most  admiring  glances  on  the  fair  creature  before 
him,  who,  to  his  thinking,  had  grown  to  be  infinitely  more 
beautiful  even  than  when  he  had  last  had  sight  of  her  ; 
but  the  truth  was,  she  was  now  all  smiles,  gladness,  and 
animation — happiness  was  beaming  in  her  sunny  glances, 
and  pleasure  basked  in  the  soft  hollows  of  her  radiant 
cheek.  Such  sweet  simplicity,  such  genuine  truth, — so 
artless  and  unworldly  a  nature  Sir  Valentine  had  had  no 
knowledge  of;  and  he,  whose  truly  chivalrous  disposition 
was  so  ready  to  take  on  trust  the  admirable  qualities  of 
woman,  could  not  fail  to  appreciate  such  excellences  as 
he  now  held  in  his  personal  acquaintance.  He  looked 
as  though  he  could  never  tire  of  such  exquisite  company. 
His  handsome  smiling  features  spoke  what  absolute  satis- 
faction he  was  then  and  there  enjoying  ;  and  the  longer 
he  stayed  in  her  bewitching  presence,  the  less  inclined 
appeared  he  to  take  himself  away  from  it. 

As  for  Mabel,  nought  in  this  world  could  equal  the 
exceeding  pleasantness  she  experienced  in  listening  to 
her  companion's  soft  mellow  voice  and  polished  delivery, 
describing  to  her  such  of  the  princely  pleasures  of  Ken- 
il worth  she  had  not  beheld.  She  entirely  forgot  she 
was  a  poor  despised  foundling,  and  in  her  fantasy  accom- 
panied her  eloquent  companion  through  all  the  glorious 
pageantries,  noble  banquets,  and  courtly  recreations,  that 
were  enjoyed  by  the  noble  company  at  the  castle,  as 
though  they  had  been  her  customary  and  most  familiar 
pastimes,  from  the  beginning  of  her  earliest  remem- 
brances.    I  question  she   would   have   been  as  properly 


214  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

entertained  with  the  reality  of  what  she  heard,  as  was 
she  with  their  mere  narration  ;  but  when  the  narrator  di- 
gressed from  his  subject  in  any  manner,  to  express,  with 
winning  civilness,  his  great  comfort  at  having  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  have  made  her  acquaintance — which  he 
thought  more  of  than  could,  be  a  thousand  Kenilworths 
— a  thrill  of  exquisite  rapture  seemed  to  pass  through  her 
whole  nature,  and  she  would  return  her  thanks  for  such 
estimation  with  a  heartiness  that  showed  clearly  whence 
it  proceeded.  This  continued  as  they  remained  strolling 
carelessly  along  under  those  shady  trees,  without  taking 
the  slightest  heed  of  time,  till  the  thickening  shadows 
gave  them  warning  how  long  they  had  dallied  with  the 
hours.  Then  some  sign  ol  separation  became  man- 
ifest. 

"  Let  me  beg  one  favor  at  your  hands,  ere  I  depart 
from  your  sweet  presence,"  said  Sir  Valentine,  as  he  was 
still  lingering  by  her  side  near  the  park  gate. 

"  In  truth,  good  sir,  I  would  grant  you  anything  in  my 
poor  power,"  answered  his  fair  comp'anion. 

"  It  is  but  to  know  your  name,"  added  he. 

"  O'  my  word  now,  good  sir,  have  you  not  known  it 
all  this  time  ?  "  inquired  she,  as  if  in  some  little  surprise. 
"  Surely  I  am  no  other  than  Mabel,  of  whom  all  persons, 
methinks,  have  some  knowledge." 

"  Mabel  !  "  repeated  the  young  knight,  somewhat  to 
himself  as  it  were,  yet  all  the  time  gazing  on  the  ingen- 
uous countenance  of  his  fair  partner,  as  though  he  was 
conning  it  for  some  pleasant  task, — then  added,  with  a 
deep  expression  in  the  words,  "  I  will  not  forget  it." 

"  But,  I  pray  you,  give  me  knowledge  of  your  name  !" 
exclaimed  Mabel,  with  a  most  pressing  earnestness,  "  an' 
you  think  it  not  over  bold  in  me  to  ask  such  a  thing  of 
you  ;  for  in  very  truth,  I  should  be  exceeding  glad  to 
know  it." 

"  I  am  called  Valentine  de  Largesse,"  replied  he, 
charmed  with  the  exquisite  fashion  in  which  the  question 
had  been  put  to  him. 

"  How  good  a  creature  !  "  said  the  gentle  girl  to  her- 


■ 

THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  215 

self,  as  she  was  returning  home  after  he  had  left  her. 
"  Valentine  de  Largesse  ?  'Tis  a  name  that  meaneth  all 
honorableness  and  true  valor,  I  will  be  bound  for't. 

How  strange  of  Dame  Lucy  to  think  there  could  be  evil 
intent  in  any  such  !  " 

This  was  not  the  only  meeting  they  had  under  those 
shady  trees.  Sir  Valentine  was  too  well  pleased  with 
his  last  interview  not  to  desire  to  repeat  his  visit,  and  in 
consequence  of  his  friend  Sir  Reginald  being  absent  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  country,  he  had  such  leisure  as 
enabled  him,  when  all  other  circumstances  concurred,  to 
realise  his  own  wishes  as  often  as  he  would.  His  be- 
havior began  imperceptibly  to  take  upon  it  the  character 
of  that  tender  gallantry,  with  which  it  was  customary 
among  the  more  chivalrous  sort  of  gentlemen,  to  address 
their  sovereign  lady.  His  homage  knew  no  bounds — his 
respect  was  equally  without  limits,  and  his  admiration, 
though  the  powerfullest  of  the  three,  was  of  that  choice 
sort  which  is  shown  more  in  delicate  actions  than  in  a 
fair  commodity  of  terms.  These  attentions  gave  the 
gentle  Mabel  a  pride  in  herself  she  had  never  experien- 
ced before,  which  increased  as  she  grew  more  familiar 
with  them.  As  it  made  progress  did  her  simplicity  di- 
minish ;  and  she  presently  took  such  things,  albeit  they 
had  once  been  so  new  to  her,  as  if  they  were  what  she 
looked  for,  and  was  properly  entitled  to  receive. 

Yet  did  this  pride  sit -upon  her  as  gracefully  as  it  might 
upon  the  noblest  lady  in  the  land.  When  at  her  humble 
duties,  she  was  no  more  to  all  appearance  than  a  poor 
foundling  ;  but  afier  tiring  of  herself  with  such  genuine 
taste  as  to  make  her  poor  apparel  look  more  becomingly 
on  her,  than  regal  garments  would  on  many  others,  she 
stood  by  the  side  of  Sir  Valentine  receiving  his  devo- 
tions, with  so  courtly  an  air  as  made  her  seem  quite  an- 
other creature.  Her  step  was  firm,  her  brow  erect,  her 
carriage  stately,  and  her  look  spoke  of  such  proud  happi- 
ness as  a  noble  maiden  might  experience  in  attracting 
to  herself  the  exclusive  attentions  of  some  princely  gal- 
lant.    At  such  times  it  was  evident  she  had  lost  all  knowl- 


216  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

edge  of  her  humble  fortunes.  Indeed  her  behavior  was 
of  such  a  sort  her  companion  not  only  had  not  thesight- 
est  suspicion  she  was  of  so  low  a  station — but  he  more 
and  more  marveled  such  unmannerly  strange  persons  as 
Sir  Thomas  and  Dame  Lucy  appeared  to  him — could 
have  so  noble  a  daughter.  Mabel  never  gave  the  matter 
a  thought,  else,  had  she  suspected  any  such  thing,  her  in- 
genuous nature  would  have  led  her  to  undeceive  him  on 
the  instant.  She  was  gratified  with  his  company  out  ot 
all  doubt,  but  she  saw  nothing  beyond  the  present  mo- 
ment ;  and  although  these  meetings  were  clandestine, 
and,  as  she  had  good  reason  for  believing,  against  the 
consent  of  the  old  knight  and  his  lady,  as  there  appear- 
ed no  offence  in  what  she  did,  she  could  not  see  she  had 
done  any. 

It  was  her  good  fortune  during  all  this  time  to  escape 
suspicion  at  home — for  her  well-disposedness  was  so  famil- 
iar to  them  that  her  conduct  was  never  inquired  into, 
and  as  her  great  trouble  and  annoyance,  young  Lucy, 
was  at  college,  she  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  more  happi- 
ness than  she  had  known  her  whole  life  long.  Pity  such 
felicity  should  be  of  such  short  endurance.  But  so  is  it 
ever. — Nothing  is  certain  save  uncertainty,  which  show- 
eth  its  troublesomeness  just  at  those  times  we  are  least 
prepared  to  put  up  with  it.  Often  and  often  is  it  we  see 
in  the  sweet  spring-time  of  the  year,  a  goodly  tree  almost 
hid  beneath  its  innumerable  fair  blossoms,  giving  such 
prodigal  promise  of  fruit  as  maketh  the  owner's  heart  leap 
with  joy — a  frost  cometh  in  the  night,  the  blossoms  are 
nipped,  shrivelled,  and  cast  off,  and  the  tree  remaineth 
with  nothing  but  barren  branches  for  all  that  season. 
Methinks  the  knowledge  of  this  should  keep  the  sanguine 
from  too  steadfast  an  expectation  ;  but  what  availeth  all 
knowledge  against  disposition  ? — a  score  of  times  shall 
such  meet  with  the  terriblest  disappointments,  and  the 
next  day  shall  find  them  hoping,  trusting,  and  anticipat- 
ing, with  greater  earnestness  than  ever.  This,  however, 
could  not  he  said  of  Mabel,  for  she  anticipated  nothing  ; 
and,  as  hath  been  said,  looked  only  upon  the  present  mo- 


THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE.  217 

merit.  She  was  scarce  of  an  age  to  trouble  herself  much 
about  the  future,  and  the  extreme  humility  of  her  fortunes 
kept  her  from  anything  that  savored  of  ambition.  This 
innocenSy  of  her  heart  was  her  best  buckler  in  this  ap- 
parent lack  of  foresight.  Proud  she  was  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied, but  hers,  was  the  pure  essence  of  pride,  and  not  the 
dross. 

As  she  was  returning  from  her  usual  stroll,  though  with- 
out meeting  with  her    usual   gratification,  she  came  upon 
a  sight  which  fixed  her  attention  so  profoundly  she  could 
not  stir  from  the  place.     It  was  in  the  pleasant  twilight 
of  the  first  month  of  autumn  when  the  heated  air  fanned 
by  the  seasonable  breeze  was  growing  to  a  pleasanfcool- 
ness,  and  the  rustling  groves  were  donning  their  embroid- 
ered livery.     Over  head  was  all  of  a  clear  grey  save  in 
the  west  a  rich  copper  hue  was  visible  at  the  verge,  grad- 
ually fading  till  it  took  the  color  of  the  surrounding  sky. 
The  herbage  was  crisp  and  short,  and  the  flowers  had  got 
to  be  of  some   rareness.     Low   upon  the    mossy  lap  of 
the  venerablest  oak  in  the  whole    grove,  lay  a  youth  in 
the  most   absolute    perfection    of    youthful    symmetry. 
Surely  he  might  without  any  great  stretch  of  fancy,  have 
been  taken  for  that  lovely  boy   who  playeth  such  vagar- 
ies with  our   humanity,    as    poets    feign  ;  and    she,  who 
crept  to  him  on  tiptoe  with  such  a  marveling,  pleased,  and 
cautious  look  upon  her  exquisite  fair  features,  would  have 
made  an  admirable  representative  of  that  divine  creature 
the  spiritual  Psyche  of  the  same  ideal  world.     He  slept 
— one  arm  supporting  his  head  from  which  the   hat  had 
fallen,  the  other  holding  an  open  book.     And  who  could 
this  be  but  the  youthful  Shakspeare  wearied  out  with  the 
long  deep  studiousness  he  now,more  than  ever  indulged  in. 
She  however  had  no  knowledge  of  who  it  was,  but  could 
not  help  gazing  with   a   pleasant  wonder  upon  the  pale 
thoughtful  brow,  and  delicately  beautiful  countenance  of 
the  young  sleeper. 

All  at  once  the  expression  of  her  features  changed  ex- 
ceedingly. She  now  looked  all  fear  and  terrible  anxiety. 
The  cause  of  this  was  she  beheld  a  hornet  hovering  over 

VOL.    I.  19 


218  THE    YOUTH    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

his  face,  seeming  every  moment  as  if  it  would  alight  on 
the  half  closed  lips,  whose  luscious  richness  of  color 
doubtless  tempted  it  thereto.  Mabel  was  in  an  agony  of 
dread  that  the  touch  of  the  insect  would  cause  the  young 
student  to  start,  and  so  he  would  get  stung  :  and  she 
dared  not  seek  to  wake  him  from  a  like  fear.  So  there 
stood  she,  bending  with  extreme  anxiousness,  and  anon 
shrinking  back  with  horrible  affright.  This  continued  for 
some  moments,  with  increasing  alarm  on  her  part,  when 
with  such  a  lively  sense  of  joy  as  had  visited  her*but  sel- 
dom, she  beheld  the  hornet  take  its  departure  without 
doing  of  any  mischief.  She  lingered  a  moment  longer, 
half  inclined  to  wake  the  sleeper,  and  tell  him  of  his 
danger,  but  as  she  could  not  bring  upon  herself  to  break 
such  sweet  slumbers  as  he  appeared  to  enjoy,  she  pre- 
sently turned  away  and  continued  her  walk. 

She  knew  not  all  this  while  that  she  was  narrowly 
watched  by  two  persons,  who,  creeping  from  tree  to  tree 
with  such  cautiousness  as  might  prevent  their  approach 
being  noticed,  followed  her  closely  as  she  went. 

"'Tisher!"  whispered  one,  drawing  close  to  the 
other. 

"  Let  her  get  to  the  next  clump  of  trees,  and  then 
upon,"  answered  the  other,  in  the  same  low  voice.  They 
then  separated  again,  and  crept  along  as  before  till  they 
had  passed  the  sleeper  some  paces,  and  were  rapidly  but 
cautiously  advancing  upon  the  object  of  their  so  much 
regard,  when  Mabel  turning  round  to  take  a  last  glance 
at  the  sleeping  student,  to  her  monstrous  surprise  and 
alarm,  found  two  strange  men  close  upon  her  foot-steps. 

"  I  pray  you  come  with  us,  sweet  damsel,"  said  one  of 
them,  whom  she  immediately  recognized  as  her  treacher- 
ous gallant  at  Kenilworth.  "  We  will  do  you  no  sort  of 
harm  should  you  come  quietly — for  we  are  of  your 
friends,  anxious  to  lead  you  to  such  great  good  fortune  as 
falleth  to  the  lot  of  few.  But  if  you  show  any  unwill- 
ingness," added  he,  seizing  her  firmly  by  the  wrist,  seeing 
she  evinced  an  evident  reluctance  to  be  of  his  company — 
"  Or  make  any  outcry,  we  shall  be  forced  to  use  such 
means  to  compel  you,^as  you  would  find  of  the  roughest. " 


THE    YOUTH    OF     SHAKSPEARE.  219 

"Unhand  me,  sirrah!"  cried  Mabel,  indignantly, 
striving  to  free  her  from  his  hold.  "  I  have  seen  enough 
of  you  to  wish  for  no  farther  acquaintance,  and  will  go 
with  yOu  on  no  account." 

'•Then  we  must  e'en  take  to  making  you,  sweetest," 
replied  he,  catching  her  up  in  his  arms,  as  though  he 
would  carry  her  away,  which  set  her  to  screaming  and 
struggling  with  all  her  might.  At  this  moment,  awaken- 
ed by  the  scream,  the  youthful  Shakspeare  started  from 
his  sleep,  and  to  his  extreme  consternation  beheld  the  fair 
object  of  his  most  pleasant  dream  borne  away  from  him, 
struggling  in  the  arms  of  some  rude  villain. 

"  Hold,  caitiff,  on  thy  life  !  "  shouted  he,  starting 
after  them,  with  such  speed  01  foot  as  soon  brought  them 
within  his  reach,  but  just  as  he  had  bravely  seized  the 
ravisher  by  the  collar  of  his  doublet,  he  was  felled  to  the 
earth  by  a  blow  from  a  heavy  riding  whip  the  other  villain 
had  with  him.  The  two  then  made  what  haste  they 
could  with  their  burthen,  despite  her  cries  and  resistance, 
till  they  came  to  their  horses  under  some  adjoifiing  trees. 
The  gallant  got  on  one  holding  Mabel  before  him,  then 
when  his  companion  was  mounted,  both  rode  across  the 
country,  at  a  pace  which  speedily  took  them  out  of  sight 
of  that  neighborhood. 


END    OF    VOLUME    I. 


UNIVERSfTY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


3  0112  056543371 


